Like Lovers Do
by PureReflection
Summary: An island vacation with Santana, Kurt, and Kurt's boyfriend has the unintended consequence of forcing Rachel and Blaine to rethink their friends-with-benefits arrangement. Future Fic: Rachel/Blaine and est. Kurt/OMC, with shifting character perspectives.
1. Don't Wanna Be Alone Tonight  Part I

**Like Lovers Do**

**Summary: When Rachel and her co-star earn their first Tony awards for their lead roles in Broadway's West Side Story revival, Kurt insists on whisking his best friend and boyfriend away for a celebratory island getaway – with Blaine and Santana in tow. As their vacation unfolds, Rachel and Blaine's mildly confusing friends-with-benefits arrangement starts to become a little too complicated; Kurt and Santana try to control the drama as they confront their own fears about love, life, and commitment. Multi-chapter future fic, with Rachel/Blaine, established Kurt/OMC, and references to past canon pairings including Kurt/Blaine and Santana/Brittany.**

**Disclaimer: No one is mine, sadly, except for a few original characters!**

XXXXX

_And I had my heart beaten down,_

_But I always come back for more, yeah_

_There's nothin' like love to pull you up,_

_When you're lyin' down on the floor there_

_So talk to me, talk to me,_

_Like lovers do_

_Yeah, walk with me, walk with me,_

_Like lovers do_

-Celine Dion, 'Taking Chances'

XXXXX

**Chapter 1: Don't Wanna Be Alone Tonight, Part I**

Blaine Anderson pushed open the doors leading out of John F. Kennedy International Airport's Terminal 8, and immediately checked his watch.

5:00 in the evening, New York time. So he'd make the Tony Awards broadcast after all.

He grinned, setting a dark brown suitcase on the ground against the terminal wall, and fished in the back pocket of his khakis for his cell phone.

"_Blaine?_"

"Hey, Wes, it's me."

"Are you seriously calling me from the Philippines on a Sunday night? Is everything all right?"

"I'm fine," he laughed, "I'm doing great, really. Look, I know it's _incredibly _short notice, but I'm actually in your neck of the woods right now – I'm in Queens. Just landed at JFK –"

"– and I'm guessing you didn't even tell anyone you'd be dropping by the states this week. You never change," said Wes, a clear hint of amusement belying his stern banker's tone.

"– and I heard Clara's hosting Tony-viewing festivities at your place tonight. Mind if I crash the party? I think I'll be able to stay with a friend in Manhattan starting tomorrow, at least until I finalize the lease on this Hell's Kitchen apartment I'm looking at, but she's out tonight, and a TV and couch sound pretty amazing right now."

"If you don't stop by, and stay two nights at the _least_, I will be personally offended," Wes assured him. "I hope you can stomach watching a certain male designer we all know and love canoodling on the red carpet with the fellow who's up for, er, a _Tony _for replicating your lead high school musical role on a Broadway stage. And what's this about an apartment lease, you're back here for _good_?"

"All in good time," he said, grinning more widely. "I'll be there as soon as I can. You're the best. Thank Clara for me too."

"Can't wait to see you, man."

XXXXX

"Which airline did you take?" the cab driver asked him conversationally, after he'd given him Wes' address.

Blaine smiled and leaned forward in the back seat; he liked chatting with strangers. "Cathay Pacific from Manila. Connected in Hong Kong."

"What were you doing in Manila? Family there?" said the man, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.

"Some still in the country from my mother's side, she actually grew up in Cebu – my father's an Ohioan through and through, for better or worse. I've actually been teaching English in inner-city Manila for the past three years. It's been one of the most wonderful experiences of my life, but I'm ready to come home."

"That's very impressive. May I ask, by _home_, do you mean Ohio or New York?"

"Oh, New York for sure. I went to college here and thought I'd be here forever – took a job in the media industry after school, but it wasn't really my thing, and when this opportunity came up after two years I just had to take it. But I love New York so much I've been back and forth more times than I can count, and I'm so thrilled to have just landed a job as an educator within the public school system here. I hadn't thought they'd take me without a master's degree."

"There's always something that brings people back to this city," said the driver, nodding. "I see it time and again. For a lot of people, it's a girl or a guy."

"Well, when I first came here out of high school, it was sort of for a guy, and that didn't really work out," Blaine laughed. "It's funny though. There's always something."

XXXXX

"And with us on the red carpet here at the Beacon Theatre we have Miss Rachel Berry, up for Best Performance in her lead role in Broadway's revival of _West Side Story _– Rachel, congratulations and I must say you look stunning tonight. Before we get started on that dress, do introduce us to your lovely companion –"

"_Lovely_, never heard such an understatement in my life," Wes muttered out of the corner of his mouth so his wife wouldn't hear, his eyes fixed on Santana.

Blaine grinned; he suspected Wes might never outgrow his crush on Santana, but he couldn't help but agree with his friend's assessment. Santana looked stunning in her signature red; she radiated sexual confidence as effortlessly as she had in high school, or at least as effortlessly as she had until she'd been outed too soon in her senior year. When he made it to NYU the year after she did, he was relieved to find that she hadn't migrated back into the closet (despite Kurt and Rachel's assurances to the contrary, he'd had his doubts), but she seemed different outside of McKinley's walls; uncharacteristically subdued. She'd joined one of his personal favorite female acappella groups on campus, but they weren't the type of ensemble that drew large crowds and swooning groupies of either sex, and she seemed to prefer it that way. Halfway through his freshman year, they got into a loud shouting match in her residence hall when he swung by to recruit her for an event he was spearheading for the LGBTQ student group. It was a fashion show, his own idea in fact (Kurt had nearly burst into tears of joy when he heard the concept – they were still together at the time), but she refused point-blank to model. He accused her of not taking any pride in who she was, adding that she would have jumped at the chance to show off her body when people still thought she was doing it to get attention from men; she screamed at him for daring to define her by her sexuality, before launching into a threat-laced tirade in Spanish and practically assaulting him with her organic chemistry textbook. Somehow, he would never be more proud of her – not even when she went on to NYU Medical School and graduated second in her class – than in the moment she showed up at the very last minute to walk the runway, blowing him a saucy kiss when she located him front and center in the audience. She was a complete and utter surprise, so drop-dead gorgeous in her racy evening gown that he wound up spending most of the night collecting phone numbers on her behalf. (Never one to sit idle, though, she stepped up in short order from "Blaine's ridiculously hot lesbian friend" to become the LGBTQ organization's best social chair in history; he couldn't have been happier to take on the education chair role, and to become vice president to her president during her final year of undergrad).

"– my future gynecologist, once she completes her residency in another year," Rachel was informing Broadway-lovers across the nation, in that blunt way of hers, "and incidentally my one-time high school nemesis."

"That's right, girl," Santana affirmed, flashing a killer smile at the camera.

"Excellent," said the interviewer on autopilot, although he looked a little bemused. "Now do tell us who you're wearing – we've heard it's –"

"Kurt Hummel's of course!" Rachel interrupted, beaming. "He's only 28, you know –"

"– the Jason Wu of our time," Santana added, "just, you know, not Asian."

"Kurt designed it _exclusively _for me to wear at tonight's event –"

"…and I'll have you know it's quite the drastic improvement over the ghastly frocks she used to wear before I began to clean up her act senior year of high school. – Hi sweetie! Oh, this is perfect on you, my intuition proven correct as always – ah, greetings, my dear Satan. You both look divine. Are we interrupting?"

"No, not at all!" said the interviewer at once, as Kurt Hummel bounced into the frame, pulling a handsome man with dark hair, light grey eyes, and a kind smile along with him by the hand. "Congratulations to you, Kurt, on the exquisite design, and here we have Adam Aarons – Rachel's co-star in _West Side Story _and fellow nominee for his lead portrayal as Tony – Adam, a hearty congratulations to you as well."

"Thank you, sir, I'm excited to be here tonight." Blaine had never really met Adam, only seen him on stage, but he couldn't help but smile at the way he'd laced his fingers around Kurt's. He seemed like a good guy.

His eyes made his way back to Rachel, who was now holding tightly onto Kurt's other hand and laughing at something Adam was telling the interviewer. An idea occurred to him, and he reached for his cell phone and typed out a quick text message, only half listening to Wes drone on about Adam's take on "Something's Coming."

_To: Santana_

_Sent: 6:21pm_

_Lookin' good, gorgeous :) Guess who's over at Wes' place watching you guys on TV? I rather suspect he'd still jump your bones in a heartbeat if given the chance, irrespective of his marital status and your sexuality._

To his great amusement, the recipient pulled her phone nearly instantaneously out of the right side of her dress, where it looked like she might have stowed it in her bra, and sent her fingers flying over the keys. He received two texts in short order.

_From: Santana_

_6:23pm_

_Welcome back to town, prep school. WSS cast party, midnight, the Carlyle on Madison. Be there or I'll kick you in the warblers._

_6:24pm_

_P.S. Tell W he won't get lucky if he comes, but you probably will. Speaking of which, what do you think of R's dress?_

He tilted his head, taking in once again the asymmetrical, off-the-shoulder cut; the smooth lines of pastel-colored fabric flowing down the starlet's waist, curving around her hips.

_To: Santana_

_Sent: 6:26pm_

_Kurt did his job right: Makes me think more about what she looks out of it than in. _

To his surprise (and, if he was being honest, delight), she didn't shoot back an innuendo-laden reply, but turned to Rachel (who was now standing close to the edge of the frame about to exit the interview), whispered something in her ear, and handed the phone to her. He couldn't help but feel a little triumphant at the sight of a hint of a blush suffusing Rachel's face and a trace of a secret smile, just before the girls moved off-screen.

"More scotch, Blaine?"

"Yeah, but I'll get it," he said, ducking around Wes to the kitchen; the other red carpet interviews wouldn't interest him.

He sipped his scotch slowly in the kitchen, a little removed from the other revelers, throat warming but palm cool against the glass from the extra ice he'd put in the drink. He was starting to feel that sense of anticipation he'd missed in Manila.

His phone buzzed from where he'd stowed it back in his pocket, and he set down his drink a little too quickly, glass clinking loudly against the counter.

_From: Rachel_

_6:37pm_

_Santana said you're back in town watching the awards on the small screen. And that she'd invited you to the after party._

_To: Rachel_

_Sent: 6:38pm_

_It's ok with you if I come?_

_From: Rachel_

_6:41pm_

_Regarding that last message you sent to Santana, I thought I should let you know in the spirit of full disclosure that I've engaged in a severe amount of stress eating in the month leading up to the Tonys. Kurt had to build extra tummy control into the dress to hide my stomach. _

He frowned at the tone. In all the years they'd been friends, he had never understood how a girl so confident in her own vocal prowess and intelligence, too confident some might say, could be so insecure about her physical beauty.

_To: Rachel_

_Sent: 6:43pm_

_You're going to rock it. And I would be really sad if you didn't have a stomach. It's your fifth most kissable attribute._

_From: Rachel_

_6:45pm_

_Thank you:) Which are the top four?_

_To: Rachel_

_Sent: 6:46pm_

_Lips, base of the throat, the birthmarks under your left breast and on your right hipbone._

"Blaine, what are you doing back there, you're missing Neil Patrick Harris – Wait, was it _you _Santana was texting back there?"

"Yeah, it was – _Wes_," he protested, but his friend had already snatched the phone away, holding it irritatingly out of reach, and was scrolling through his texts.

Figuring the damage was already done, Blaine sighed, hopped up to sit on the counter, and waited for the blow to fall.

"Um…Blaine?"

"Yeah," he said resignedly.

"This…_Rachel_…? You're _gay_."

"Yeah," he repeated.

"When Kurt ended things between the two of you, you were _devastated. _I mean, I was still at UCLA, but David was doing his internship in the city that semester, and he said you didn't go to any of your classes for an entire week, and didn't go to a single social event for _two months_. You were in complete and utter denial even though anyone who knew both of you could see from a mile away that you were growing apart. You took three times as long as a normal person to get over him."

"Of course I did," he said, annoyed. "I was in love with him, Wes. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Only that I'm not entirely sure how the part of this story where you're clearly gay fits in with _this_," Wes waved Blaine's phone in the air, "which obviously supports the notion that you've experimented physically with Rachel Berry at the very least, and more likely had sexual relations with her multiple times from the subtext. Now that I think about it, Kurt did tell me that you once questioned your sexuality over Rachel back when you were still at Dalton. Perhaps you are bisexual after all?"

"I don't think I am – I mean, yeah, I've realized I'm attracted to women as well, so I guess that's the definition of bisexuality, but I still _identify _as a gay man, I just always have – I've only dated and been in relationships with guys since Kurt, although I've _slept_ with women –"

"In the plural? When did this happen?" Blaine forced himself to make eye contact, and felt a twinge of guilt when he read Wes' expression. His friend looked slightly less incredulous now, and a lot more hurt that he apparently hadn't been kept in the loop.

"Look, Wes, it's kind of complicated," he admitted, "and Santana is really the only person who knows about this whole thing in the first place, which is why she picked up on what started happening between Rachel and me on her own, without my telling her. Kurt and I keep in touch and we're good friends now, you know that, but I don't think he has any idea that I've been with girls in that way since we broke up.

"After Kurt and I officially ended things toward the end of my sophomore year, you're right, I moped around for a long time. Finally some of my college friends convinced me that I needed to go out and have fun and try to forget about it for a while. The initial plan was a gay bar in the West Village, but one of my guy friends had just pledged a fraternity so we wound up at this crazy NYU party instead, and – well, I somehow ended up going home with this random girl whose name I could barely remember –" He broke off, both of them laughing now – "and yeah, I actually went all the way with her, only the second person I'd ever had sex with – Kurt was my first – and it was stupid and I didn't have any inclination to go out with her, but I actually _enjoyed _the sex, and I hated myself for enjoying it. It felt like a betrayal of everything I'd shared with Kurt, and I didn't think it was who I was. So I went back to moping in my room for another week.

"Santana finally stormed my room to stage an intervention – she was sick of having to make excuses for my lethargy, said even Rachel got over Finn faster and she hadn't thought that was possible – and I was just so confused and frustrated that I ended up telling her about everything that happened. She took one look at me and started cracking up," he said ruefully.

"No way," said Wes, grinning.

"Yeah – then once she'd finally stopped laughing, she sat down for two hours with me and talked me through it. Told me if I felt like a gay man who dates and falls in love with other men but happens to enjoy sex with women too, then that's what I felt like, and what was the point of either feeling guilty or slapping a new label on myself? Then she went into a lecture about how people who can have sex with the entire population rather than only half without wanting to barf should utilize their God-given capacity to the full extent, otherwise they'd be wasting the libido element in the universe, or something."

"That woman is remarkable," Wes pronounced. "And how did Rachel come into the picture?"

"It wasn't terribly long ago. I was back in town for a week about a year ago, dropped by this coffee place near Kurt's office to catch up with him. Rachel had ascended to the lead role in West Side Story quite recently, and when I mentioned to Kurt that I'd love to catch one of her performances, he made a couple of calls and managed to reserve one of the best seats in the house for that very evening. Met her at the stage-door after the show, went back to her place to catch up – we hadn't seen each other in a while, nor had either of us really been intimate with anyone in a couple of months as I recall, so the sexual tension was running kind of high, and eventually we sort of just went for it. I ended up sleeping over for the entire week, and since then most times I've been back in the city for a few days, we've re-connected and fooled around. We're friends who have sex from time to time. That's all there is to it, really."

"Seriously, Blaine – thanks for telling me, and you know you can count on me if you ever need to talk to someone about Rachel, a boy, anyone. I'm not one to judge – Dalton didn't raise me that way, and once a man of Dalton, always a man of Dalton, right?"

"Right," said Blaine, smiling at him.

"Well, there you go," said Wes, handing the phone back and clapping him once on the back before disappearing into the living room again.

He had one new message – a single word, repeated twice on the screen.

_From: Rachel_

_6:55pm_

_Tonight, tonight _

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**Please review! So grateful for your favorites and subscriptions but would also love your feedback!**

**Next chapter**: Aftermath of the Tony awards, with cameos from Rachel's dads and a certain stepbrother of Kurt's, Santana's pursuit of a female bartender, and some definite alone time between Rachel and Blaine. Still from Blaine's point of view, although the story will shift perspectives among the characters in future chapters.


	2. Don't Wanna Be Alone Tonight Part II

**Chapter 2: Don't Wanna Be Alone Tonight, Part II **

Blaine slipped into the Bemelmans Bar room at the Carlyle, feeling a bit underdressed in his open-collared shirt and slacks as he caught the opening notes of a live solo piano version of Rhapsody in Blue. He stood in place for a moment, taking in the 24-karat gold leaf ceiling, the whimsical murals on the walls.

"Blaine_ Anderson_, is that you?" He turned quickly and saw to his relief that he had come face-to-face with a beaming Leroy and Hiram Berry.

"Misters Berry, it's wonderful to see you both."

"Oh please, it's Leroy and Hiram," said Leroy, clapping him on the back as Hiram shook his hand vigorously. "I'm so glad you came. We sent invites around to all of Rachel's old friends but assumed you were still in Manila."

"I was until this evening, but I'm back in the city, this time for good, I think. I can only imagine how proud you must be of your daughter tonight."

"Yes," said Hiram, looking tearful, "her first Tony, it's what she always dreamed of. She was hoping to have it in the bag at twenty-five, but what's three years in the grand scheme of things, really."

"It's just a wonderful night for our darling and the entire cast and crew," Leroy added. "So they lost out on Best Musical, but it's pure human emotion that makes _West Side Story_ so wonderful, and they've got two Best Performance Awards to show for it."

"I couldn't agree more," Blaine said sincerely. "Our high school production served as a backdrop to some of the most emotional moments in my life."

"Well, you'll always be her first Tony," Leroy said with a grin.

"Speaking of which – Blaine, Adam Aarons just caught my eye, he's coming over to say hello" – Hiram's voice dropped to a stage whisper – "we can make your excuses if it's too awkward for you, given the history…"

"Don't worry about it," Blaine said quickly, "Kurt and I broke up years ago, I can handle it, no problem."

"Good, I'm glad to hear it – Adam, son, congratulations on the win, well done!"

"Hiram, I really ought to be thanking you and Leroy for raising such a fantastic daughter. It's electrifying standing on the stage with her every night; she brings so much life to the role that I can't help but put forth my best, with her."

"That's a good answer, if you plan on a future with Kurt," chortled Leroy. "They were at each other's throats most of high school, but now that they're no longer competing with each other, she can do no wrong. Except for wearing an unflattering shade of pink to a cast party."

"Adam, I don't think you've met Blaine Anderson, I'm not sure if you know but he was actually Rachel's first Tony in a Lima, Ohio production of _West Side Story _when she was just seventeen –"

"Oh, Blaine, of course," Adam turned to shake his hand, smiling genuinely, "I've heard a lot about you, from both Rachel and Kurt. This is going to sound really silly, but I've actually been dying to meet you ever since Rach invited me over literally the day after I met her to watch the video of your high school performance – as a Tony-Maria bonding experience she said, and an opportunity for me to learn how seriously she took the role even at an extremely tender age. I researched all the great Broadway and off-Broadway performances of Tony to get into my character, but I'd honestly never seen anything as sincere and true as the way your high school self played it."

"Don't be ridiculous," Blaine laughed, feeling a little dazed at the fact that his ex-boyfriend's new love interest was making him blush like a schoolboy, "I've seen you on stage, you're the real deal and I'm a big fan. I'm just honored to meet you."

"_Aarons_!"

A tiny blonde woman in a light blue cocktail dress had launched herself into Adam's arms.

"I can't believe my future fellow Hudson-Hummel-in-law just won a _Tony_…"

"Easy, Kate, not so fast," laughed Adam, depositing her back on the ground with a kiss to each cheek.

"Ugh, it's _Katie_ you idiot, did you not get the memo about the Kate Hudson joke getting _super_ old…"

So this was Finn's wife, Blaine realized. He hadn't been at the wedding, which he thought might have been six or seven months back based on the Facebook photo album, but he'd actually seen her before, quite a number of years ago. During his senior year at McKinley, he'd dropped by to visit Kurt, who was home for fall break, and run into Finn moping in the corner with a glass of milk. Finn had told Kurt he had come home for the weekend just to see his step-brother, but Blaine had his suspicions, and privately got Finn to divulge that he was actually back in Lima to avoid attending the OSU homecoming game.

"Look, it still hurts to see Shane out on the field – that could have been me," Finn had admitted to Blaine. "I don't handle rivalries very well, you know that."

"So that Cooter guy didn't think you were good enough to play for the team," Blaine had said honestly. "Most guys aren't, it's nothing on you. You made it to OSU, though, didn't you? You love the Buckeyes. You've got to just get out there, suck it up, and have fun, otherwise you're never going to get over this."

So while Kurt holed himself up in his room to finish his writing seminar essay, Blaine had driven out to Columbus with Finn to watch the game. It was only after Kurt told him a while later that his step-brother had successfully rebounded from Rachel to a surprisingly sweet, platinum blonde Tri-Delt with a penchant for college football and a voice that rivaled Sugar Motta's in the worst way possible, did he realize that he'd actually seen Katie that day on the bleachers. She'd been sitting in the row in front of them with five of her sorority sisters, and he and Finn had exchanged horrified looks when she started singing along to the national anthem in the most tone-deaf voice he'd ever listened to in his life. But then she spent the rest of the game whooping and cheering at all the right moments and treating her clueless companions to the most astute play-by-play commentary that he'd ever heard from an amateur, girl or guy, and Finn had leaned over with his signature lopsided smile to whisper, "I've gotta admit, bro, that girl's kind of adorable."

"I'm sorry," said Adam suddenly, back at the Carlyle, "Katie, Blaine, have you guys met?"

"Not formally, but heard a lot about you," said Blaine, deciding not to be creepy, and held out his hand for her to shake. "I went to high school with Finn and Kurt."

"Blaine, of course, I've heard about you too," she said at once, taking his hand and smiling at him. "Oh there he is – Finn, come over here and congratulate your future brother-in-law – don't kick me, Adam, Kurt's not here, we've all got a nice bet going on around when you're going to pop the question –"

"Hey bro, nice work," said Finn with a grin, lumbering up and giving Adam a bear hug. "And yeah, we've definitely got a bet around that, and my guess is pretty soon – but right now I'm just happy I won the last bet, I _knew _Kurt would cry more when Rachel won than when you did – hey, _Blaine_, no way!"

Blaine laughed as Finn pounced on him too, smelling suspiciously like he'd had a little too much beer.

"Well, we old folks should be getting back to our hotel room," said Hiram, taking Leroy by the arm, "nice to see you all, especially you, Blaine, and congratulations again, Adam. Our daughter couldn't have asked for better Tonys in her life. Finn, I'll call you later to get in on that wager."

"Thanks, Hiram."

"You bet, Mister Berry!"

A side door opened on the opposite end of the room, and he caught glimpse of Rachel in the flesh for the first time that night as she slipped through it, tucking a phone back into her clutch purse. He watched as she made her way through the crowd, stopping to chat briefly with cast members and friends who called out their congratulations as she walked by. He saw Kurt, too, intercept her in the middle of the room, just close enough for him to eavesdrop on their conversation, and his eyes lingered on the pair. Blaine had always drawn an odd sense of pleasure from watching the two of them interact with each other, particularly after he'd gotten over the break-up enough that the three of them (or four of them, in the rare weekends Santana wasn't drowning in medical school exams) could go out without any awkward feelings. He would never say it to Kurt (whom he still suspected of harboring a touch of the old unintentional bi-phobia), but there was something in the way he touched Rachel – a preference to kiss the curve of her nose over her cheek, tendency to start massaging the sides of her waist at the first signs of emotional stress – that occasionally used to lead Blaine's imagination to highly interesting (if wildly unlikely) scenarios. He had always felt a little dirty about it, but reasoned that if number three on Noah Puckerman's high school bucket-list ran something like 'Watch Santana and Rachel make out for ten minutes (with tongue),' there really wasn't much harm in fantasizing a bit about two people he found attractive.

"Quinn wants us to send her the link to our red-carpet interview," he heard Rachel tell Kurt as she wrapped her arms more securely around his neck, "she had to miss the first two hours of the broadcast to close a prospective client on a prime residential property in Columbus."

"I'll send it to her after brunch tomorrow," yawned Kurt, "which mind you, will be late. After the evening Adam treated me to when my spring collection launched, there will be a lot of returning the favor tonight – not that I mind in the slightest," he added, smiling as she laughed and poked him in the side. "I'm glad we've all taken off work tomorrow. You're coming, right? To brunch, I mean, not the other things, as epic as a threesome with _two _Tony winners and yours truly might be."

"I – yes," he caught the slight tone of hesitation in her voice, "I'll make it, as long as it is late, but Kurt – there was a topic I wanted to discuss with you. It's not exactly urgent, but it involves an aspect of my personal life that I haven't fully divulged to you, but really think that I should."

Blaine bit his lip, frowning slightly. He wasn't so sure that was a good idea, if it was what he thought she might be talking about, but he supposed if he was going to be in the city for good now, Santana and Wes wouldn't be the last ones to find out about the friends-with-benefits situation.

"Of course sweetie, can it wait 'til brunch though? I'd give you all my attention tonight, but Finn and Katie decided to stay in the cheapest motel in the seediest part of the city, which they have no clue how to get to, and I need to make sure they get home safely before swinging back to pick up Adam. I don't want to be responsible for the mugging of a pregnant woman. Oh come on, don't look at me like that, it's obvious she's knocked up and just hasn't told Finn yet – she hasn't had so much as a sip of champagne all night. Is yours a very sensitive subject, by the way, do you mind if the boy is there?"

"It – well it _might_ be a bit sensitive," she said slowly as she detached her arms from his neck, "but I don't mind if Adam is there."

"Then let's talk about it tomorrow," he said brightly, taking her hand. "This is your night, your dream, and I want you to live it to the fullest. Go hang out with Santana, she said she gave you a proposition to amp up the debauchery factor of your night, in exchange for serving as her wing-woman at the bar."

She nodded and turned toward the bar, heels clicking lightly against the floor. Kurt straightened up just in time to catch Blaine's eye, and smiled genuinely, walking over to the group.

"Blaine," he said simply, holding out his arms for a hug. He glanced over at Adam, who actually nodded encouragingly – apparently he wasn't the jealous type – before hugging him back, tightly, letting his head rest on Kurt's shoulder for a few seconds. The spark had faded for both of them long ago, but there would always be something about Kurt that felt like home.

"Rumor has it you're back in New York for the long haul," said Kurt, releasing him with the same smile playing on his lips.

"Yeah, I've just started telling people. I'll be teaching here starting September. Still finalizing the exact placement – should know in another week or two, which still gives me a few months to prep – but it'll be a public high school for sure."

"I'm glad," said Kurt. "There's nothing like doing what you love in a city that you love."

"It's why I came back," he agreed.

"I have to run, need to make sure these two get back safely" – Kurt gestured toward his step-brother, who was attempting a step ball change leap to the piano music worthy of his old Glee booty-camp days, and his step-sister-in-law, who was laughing in the background – "but Blaine, we'll grab a bite to eat soon, I've no doubt."

"Absolutely."

"As for _you_ –" Kurt placed a light hand on his boyfriend's chest – "I overheard a crowd of Jets understudies arguing over which of them would get to buy you a celebratory shot first. Apparently the Carlyle actually offers shots for special occasions. Little worried for your safety, honey – you know you don't hold your alcohol very well."

"Hmm" – Adam pulled him in by the waist for a kiss – "I plan on making sure you're the only one to get me drunk tonight."

"I've got much nicer drinks at my place," Kurt whispered against his lips. "I'll be back for you in forty-five minutes."

Kurt disappeared through the crowd with Finn and Katie in tow, Adam watching him leave with an obviously smitten look on his face. Blaine glanced away, squinting across the room, and thought he could just make out the forms of two dark-haired girls seated by the bar. He looked back at Adam.

"Mind if I…"

"Of course," said Adam, waving a hand and smiling at an approaching cast member, "go enjoy yourself. A real pleasure to meet you, Blaine – hope to see you around soon."

"The pleasure was all mine – congratulations again."

XXXXX

"Hi," he said, wrapping an arm around each girl's waist, kissing Santana's cheek first, then Rachel's. His lips lingered for an extra second on Rachel's cheek, just a tiny bit closer to the edge of her mouth, which curved upward gently as she reached a hand up to touch his face.

"Well, look who we have here," said Santana with a little smirk, "hon, we've _got _to work on your sexting game. Cutesy romantic might get you a candle-lit date in the children's playground, but it's not getting you into bed."

"I heard it works on _some_," he replied with an eyebrow raise, grabbing a chair and scooting in between them. His palm found Rachel's knee under the table, fingers starting to rub a tiny pattern against the soft fabric of her dress.

"Keep telling yourself that," Santana said, grinning now. "So are you here for the usual three-day song-and-dance in the park and angling for a little something-something on the side before hopping a flight back to Pinoy-land, or are we talking about a real live New York teaching gig here?"

"The latter, actually." He felt Rachel lift her leg slightly, shifting the angle of the barely-there, knee-high slit in her dress so that his thumb brushed lightly against bare skin.

"Excellent," said Santana, adjusting the neckline of her dress to reveal an additional inch of cleavage. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a little unfinished business here…" She put her elbow on the counter and leaned down to expose her chest more effectively, shifting her torso to enable a seductive gaze down the length of the bar.

He turned his eyes to Rachel, who was sitting uncharacteristically quietly, staring at her Tony Award statuette on the counter in front of her, one hand wrapped around it while the other that had grazed his face resumed its light rhythm against the table.

"You didn't congratulate me yet," she reminded him.

"I don't believe in toasting the inevitable," he teased. "Good job not screwing it up, though."

She kicked him bare-toed in the shin – fortunately, she'd shed her heels under the table, _Roman Holiday_-style – but let her foot rest above his, slightly curled toes rubbing lightly against the stretch of his lower leg between his foot and the ridden-up cuff of his slacks. He suddenly felt exceptionally glad that he'd forgotten to wear dress socks.

"I welled up at your acceptance speech," he admitted when she met his eyes. "I was fully prepared for the tearful three-minute ode to Kurt, complete with side-by-side footage of him sobbing into Santana's shoulder in the audience, but wasn't expecting you to thank every member of your senior year Glee by name, plus Mr. Schue. You do know my last name's Anderson, by the way, not Warbler?"

"Don't quibble, it's unbecoming," she admonished. "Oh, hush, I'm about to put on my wing-woman hat now, this should be fun."

"Another gin martini?"

"Over here," Santana purred, her breasts dipping even further across the bar as an attractive female bartender approached, and Rachel giggled softly in his ear. "She tried to lead with my Tony Award while I was in the back room fielding congratulatory calls, and we all know how convincing she is as Anita," she whispered to Blaine, "but even the new bartenders here know who the real cast is, it's one of our favorite venues for parties, so she's resorted to more _traditional_ methods."

"Right," he said vaguely, a little distracted with the way her breath was stealing warmly across his skin, wondering if Officer Krupke and Bernardo at the middle of the bar would even notice if he went in for a quick kiss, just the lightest brush of his mouth against hers for now. He took the safe road, and contented himself with running his thumb slightly higher up her leg under the table. "She should just mention how much money you make in OB/GYN."

"Here you are," said the young woman at the bar, setting the martini down on the table in front of Santana. Blaine could see why Santana had chosen to pursue her; she really was pretty. He thought she looked East African, maybe Ethiopian but probably Somali judging from the word Aziza on her name tag, with soft curves and a slender build. "Nah, don't bother," Aziza added as Santana made to pull her credit card out of a bra strap – he wondered if his friend kept anything in her purse – "you don't have to pay for this one."

"You mean it's on the house?" Rachel piped up unnecessarily, as Santana beamed.

"Oh no, I'm not planning on losing my job, Miss Berry, they're strict here," said Aziza, pulling out what looked like her personal credit card, "if I'm going to treat a hot gal tonight it'll be on my own dime. I've got to keep both my gigs if I want to keep living in this city."

"Thank you," said Santana with a self-indulgent smile, "and to your credit, I was a lot more certain of your smokin' body than your interest in ladies, so I'm more fortunate than talented tonight. What's your other gig?"

"Last shift at a karaoke joint down in the West Village," she handed a set of keys off to a co-worker behind the bar before sitting down on a chair across from Santana, "themed nights, sometimes, where patrons get discounted drinks if they sing from a certain artist's catalog. Tonight's Amy Winehouse."

"God rest her soul," said Santana plaintively, brushing away a tear that Blaine suspected was actually genuine.

"Santana has a gifted voice for Miss Winehouse," said Rachel at once with a sudden, ear-splitting smile, clearly spying an entrance to resume her wing-woman role. "In my expert opinion, while she has a long and promising career ahead of her in the medical field, she would make a fine cover artist. It seems only yesterday that she was leading our high school glee club to its first-place finish at sectionals with her triumphant rendition of 'Valerie.'"

Blaine imagined Wes' face if he could hear this one-sided account of McKinley and Dalton's tie at sectionals, and actually considered opening his mouth to set the record straight, but Rachel slid her foot perilously high up his leg under the table, and he found himself working not to embarrass himself instead.

"Yeah?" Aziza grinned across the table. "Well, a Tony award winner's opinion certainly counts for a hell of a lot in my book, but I wouldn't say no to a first-hand listen. My shift here's just about over, if you'd like to come," she added to Santana.

"Love to," said Santana at once, rising to her feet with a smile as wide as Rachel's. "Prepare to be swept off your feet."

Blaine watched them cross over to the front doors, Santana glancing back to wink over her shoulder at him. He turned back to Rachel. "Not bad. I'll give her an eighty-percent chance of getting lucky tonight."

"Ninety," she countered, moving in closer, lips actually brushing the edge of his ear this time.

"How would you say that compares to mine?" he whispered daringly, shifting against her so her mouth was almost touching his.

"I'd say it was higher than yours, just to see if you'd try harder for this," she murmured, lips barely ghosting against his, "but I'm honest to a fault when it comes to sex, so I can't."

XXXXX

"All set," he called over his shoulder as he gave the full-length mirror one final nudge back into place on her hallway wall. "So why'd you take this off in the first place?"

"Well, it was set in loose to begin with due to the handyman's frankly _shoddy_ craftsmanship" – her voice was only slightly muffled behind her half-closed bedroom door – "and as it looked as if it would fall off the wall and shatter into a billion pieces any day now, I really couldn't risk such an ominous occurrence within a week of the award ceremony. I don't quite subscribe to the seven years superstition, but seven days of bad luck would have been bad enough, Blaine."

"Good you didn't take the chance," he said with a soft smile, kneeling down in front of the mirror to fix a stray bootlace. "Any more housework I could help with? At the rate you're getting undressed, I could probably redo your floor tile before you come out of there, and this is an English teacher with questionable practical skills we're talking about here."

"You _know _how Kurt is with designer clothes, particularly ones _he _designed – he told me when he handed me the dress that I was perfectly at liberty to enjoy a guilt-free sexual encounter with a man I deemed worthy of bringing home on award night, but _only _once I'd removed the dress extremely carefully _on my own_, wrapped it gently in approved packaging, and placed it inside a clean closet at the appropriate temperature."

"That's my cue to make a snarky, Santana-worthy comment about the prospect of Kurt having any level of control over your sex life, but the thought honestly kind of turns me on, more than anything."

She laughed that laugh of hers, the sound resonating in the hall now. He dropped the lace instinctively, willing himself not to turn around yet, letting his eyes trail up the mirror reflection of her figure, which had appeared just behind his and slightly to the side – long legs for her height, those lavender boyshorts, the gentle curve of her stomach and little breasts in a soft cotton bra, loosened updo with a few dark brown strands trailing onto her shoulders.

He rose slowly to stand behind her, his eyes still watching her in the mirror, watching the fingers of his left hand curve around her hip, right hand tracing something on her stomach. "Still carrying your trophy," he observed, voice coming out a little hoarser than he'd planned it. But then, he'd stopped trying to understand why the sight of his ex-boyfriend's best girl friend in boyshorts made his throat go dry.

"Mm-hmm." He could hear the intake of her breath as his lips brushed against the back of her neck, could feel the hand that wasn't still clutching the Tony Award start to wind more tightly through his hair. "Help me decide where to put it."

"Living room mantel – wait, is this…?" He hadn't noticed the pair of tiny music notes behind her left shoulder.

"Two months ago. Santana insisted on celebrating her twenty-eighth birthday – or mourning her failure to join the 27 Club, I'm not entirely sure which – by dragging me to the tattoo parlor."

"Good idea. It's lovely."

"Award," she reminded him as he slid his right hand up to trace the edge of her breast. He watched her eyes flutter closed in the mirror, lashes still prettily curled. "Not the mantel, that's _exclusively_ a shrine to Barbra's lifetime achievements. A star should never forget her idols even when she makes it big."

"How about – god, Rach" – she'd just laced the fingers she'd been winding in his hair through his, slipping both of their hands into her bra – "you're not exactly putting me in a thinking mood."

"Mm, neither are you" – she kissed against his jaw, and he drew a sharp breath – "just playing fair."

"Top of the Glee Club memory collection shelf in your bedroom," he said quickly. "Right in between our old West Side Story program and that grainy photo Kurt took with his iPhone of you two together at the Gershwin. Couldn't be more perfect."

A wide smile spread slowly across her face. "Why didn't I think of that?" She tugged his hand away from her chest abruptly, still gripping his fingers tightly. "Come on."

"Okay, okay," he laughed, letting her pull him in the direction of her room. He sat down on the bed, kicking off his shoes and unbuttoning his shirt as she deposited the trophy on her Glee shelf, and couldn't help smiling as she examined its appearance amidst the little collection of photos and programs of her old musical performances from every possible angle.

His phone buzzed in his pocket; two new texts from Santana.

_3:31am_

_just killed my performance of Valerie yet again…SO gettin lucky tonight ;)_

_3:32am_

_ask R about our experimental lesbo make-out sesh after we got the tats_

He grinned at the last one and would have said something about it to Rachel, but all of a sudden she was close enough to count each of her eyelashes if he tried, her lips parting against his as he slipped his fingers inside the waistband of her boyshorts, her left hand running all over his chest as her right one worked at his belt, and he figured he would store that nugget of information away for another time.

XXXXX

**Next chapter**: Morning after the Tony's, an embarrassing phone conversation, a double date of sorts, and a proposition from Kurt. Oh, and a flashback to Rachel and Blaine's first sexual encounter alluded to in Chapter 1. All from Rachel's perspective!


	3. I Just Wanna Start Again

**Chapter 3: I Just Wanna Start Again**

Rachel Berry gazed at her reflection in her bathroom mirror, palms resting lightly against her warm face. One hand slipped down to trace over her bare collarbone as she reached up with the other – pulling off her slightly damp headband, tossing it onto the counter over the ribbed tank and nylon shorts she'd just discarded.

There was something about a restless, breathless night tangled in the sheets that tended to enliven her in the strangest way possible, had her itching to run five miles on the elliptical before breakfast. It didn't hurt that the energizing realization she'd delivered on a long-cherished professional dream had finally taken root.

Seizing a bottle of shampoo from the top shelf, she slipped into the shower, closing the door softly behind her and starting up the water. She wouldn't rush; there was no need. Even the first time he'd stayed at her place – before the routine they played out over the past year, whenever he was in town, had become as instinctive and familiar as their Burberry window-shopping excursions during her senior year at NYADA – he'd slept in until noon.

That night had been her one-month "Maria-versary," as her Tony had put it; she remembered because Adam had surprised her in her dressing room with a bouquet of yellow roses. She'd given him a huge hug and a playful kiss on the mouth for those because she and her boyfriend had broken up a few months ago, in the midst of rehearsals, so she'd never received flowers for a lead Broadway performance from a man before, other than her dads (although Noah had oddly mailed her vegan challah bread from Lima on her opening night). She'd been magnificent on stage that evening, better than her best; the past month had been more trying than she'd ever publicly admit, but nonetheless an exercise in building confidence, and she'd never been more certain that Broadway _was _her true love than she was that night.

She'd taken to the stagedoor with her Anita – who had all of Santana's snark on-stage but none of it off – Adam excusing himself to Kurt's apartment for some quality time before his boyfriend flew to Lima for an advanced planning session for Finn's wedding. She'd been shocked to see Blaine standing there with smiling eyes, holding out his program to her. When her friend had successfully distracted the bodyguard and she'd motioned for him to hop the barrier, he ditched the program and pulled her into a close embrace, so close her lips brushed his shoulder and his her temple, one hand on her lower back and fingers of the other centimeters away from combing through her hair.

Two and a half hours later, they were sitting a little too close together on her living room couch, fingers of one hand tangled together, as he marveled at the seat Kurt had reserved for him with barely three hours' notice – one of the best in the house.

"I _get_ that he's your best friend, but to have dibs on that particular row he's got to have at least one other claim on the production," he teased. "Let me guess, sleeping with your director."

"Not with the _director_," she had laughed, and his eyes widened – "Oh my god, he's sleeping with Adam Aarons, isn't he."

"Don't fault him for dating a Broadway star – or starlet, for that matter – just because you missed your chance back in high school," she said daringly, eyes darting up to meet his – "if only your sexuality hadn't gotten in the way."

"Yeah, well. It does get in the way of dating. Starlets, that is." He reached up, brushed a strand of brown hair from her cheek, eyes following his hand as he tucked it behind her ear rather than looking into her face. "Gets in the way of dating, but not other things, as it turns out."

"_Oh_," she breathed, as though she hadn't seen this coming hours ago, ever since that strange embrace at the stagedoor. His eyes flitted back to her face, gaze shifting downward, slowly, to study her mouth.

It had been so many weeks since she'd last been intimate with a man, and his warm breath sliding across the valley between her breasts and his hand working under her skirt were so new to her, that she found herself gasping under him on the couch embarrassingly quickly. But he just kissed her shoulder until she came down from her high, hugging her to him and calling her beautiful when she hid her flushed face in the arm of the sofa, and they'd wound up cuddling in her living room for half the night.

XXXXX

"It's only eleven and you definitely didn't fall asleep until five," her award night hook-up groaned into her pillow as she danced around the room opening window curtains, "how on earth did you manage to work out _and _shower?"

"I don't sleep in as a rule, Blaine Warbler," she reminded him, "not when the sun is shining and there are goals to work toward."

"This is why we're not dating," came the muffled reply.

"I thought," she said with an ironic smile, sitting down on the edge of the bed, "we weren't dating because of your identification as an admittedly sexually-confused but nonetheless uncompromisingly gay man when it comes to choosing a potential life partner."

"Oh, right," he said, reaching out to snake an arm around her waist and roll her sideways so she toppled gently over the sheets onto him.

"I also don't kiss people before they've brushed their teeth in the morning, as a rule."

"I don't have morning breath and you know it."

"Fine," she relented, pressing him down onto the sheets, allowing him to tuck her long hair behind her ears, curl the strands around his fingers. If she was being honest, she enjoyed kissing him best in the mornings, liked the slightly rougher feel of his lips against hers. He was one of those rare people she'd slept with who actually still tasted good right after waking up, but even so he was careful to use minimal tongue just in case, pressing barely open-mouthed kisses up into every little crevice between her lips and around the corners of her mouth. She didn't understand how this could be so sensual, but sometimes when she closed her eyes and just focused on listening to the sound of their soft, quick little kisses, she felt her body ache inexplicably for his hands cupping her breasts, his thigh pressing between her legs, even though they never had sex during the day.

"So what goal did you tack on the wall in front of your elliptical today?" he asked after just a few minutes of the usual fare, and she rolled off him to sit on the edge of the bed again, straightening her yellow sundress and feeling a little cheated. "Now that you've outgrown your old one."

"I – I didn't do it yet, I wasn't sure what to write," she confided. "Academy Award by thirty-two? I'd say thirty, but what if they really do revive _Funny Girl _on Broadway, I can't give up that opportunity even for the glamor of the big screen."

"That sounds great, but hey, I've got a better one," he said with a sudden smile, shifting over on his side to look up into her face with an earnest expression. "Happiness. No time limit."

"I'm already happy," she said, feeling slightly unsettled at the way he was looking at her as if he knew how to solve all her problems. "I didn't get my Tony by twenty-five, but twenty-eight isn't that terrible, is it?"

"Of course it's not, silly," he laughed, grabbing her hand and giving it a light squeeze. "And look, I want to see you in _Funny Girl_, or _Evita _for that matter,as much as the next guy. This isn't a mutually exclusive thing; career versus love isn't a dilemma anymore, or it shouldn't be. I'm just saying – you and I are both drifters when it comes to our personal lives, I mean, how many guys have we both been through since high school? And just because you're not settled down like Finn or in a steady relationship like Kurt doesn't mean you can't be happy just the way you are. But I _know _you're not any of those things not because you don't want them, but because you aren't going to settle for anything or anyone less than you deserve. And you shouldn't, ever, because you're _you_, you're _Rachel Berry_. Just don't rule out the possibility of falling so much in love with someone, mutually, that you just _know_, someday, that you were each never really complete without the other. I haven't ruled it out for myself either."

She considered this for a moment, smiling a little in spite of herself, then leaned over and pressed another quick kiss to his mouth. She didn't close her eyes this time. "Thank you," she said by way of explanation when he opened his. "For being the true and dear friend that you are."

"Mm, you're always welcome."

Her phone rang from the bedside table. "Kurt," she said, pressing the speaker button but placing her hand on her lips, signaling that he remain quiet.

"Hi, Kurt."

"_Rachel_…you had sex!"

"_What_ – I did not!" she protested, as Blaine hid his face back in the pillow to muffle a startled laugh. "Why on earth would you think that?"

"Your voice, I always find it's a touch raspier the day after you've had sex – oh stop it, not in a bad way, in a sultry Santana-esque sort of way – and it's not an alcohol thing either, it never happens when you've just been out drinking. Don't lie to me, doll. Is he in your apartment now?"

"Maybe," she hedged.

"Lucky man," said Kurt. "Just had sex with a Tony winner, and believe me, it's a wonderful thing – I would know. Bring him to brunch."

"Kurt, I don't think that's a good idea by any stretch of the imagination."

"Oh, I think it's a great idea," said Kurt in a too-bright tone, sounding suspiciously like he was trying to bite back a laugh. "The place I have in mind for brunch has the most _scrumptious_ banana walnut pancakes, and if memory serves me right, your mystery man used to have _quite_ the post-coital craving for those…"

There was dead silence on the line as Rachel and Blaine exchanged horrified looks; then she heard the distinct sound of Adam starting to laugh uncontrollably in the background.

"No, no," she whispered in a panic, cheeks flushing, "no, this cannot be happening."

"Oh my _god_," groaned a red-faced Blaine, flopping back on the bed and not even bothering to keep his voice down at this point, "Kurt and his _ridiculous _sixth sense."

"Oh Blaine, honey," said Kurt, who was now laughing along with his boyfriend and sounded extremely pleased with himself, "I didn't need more than two or three senses for this one, four if you count a keen idea of how to blackmail one Santana Lopez. Twelve-thirty, Georgio's Country Grill on 53rd and 9th. See you two animals in an hour."

XXXXX

"I don't believe it."

"Well, it's _true_," she insisted.

"You mean to tell me that _Kurt Hummel_ had sex on a _first_ date."

"That's what made me so certain this was different," she said, looking eagerly up into his face. "It's not Adam's style either. I woke up the next morning just _basking_ in the triumph of the blind date I'd executed so successfully, _brilliantly_ captured in my texts from the prior evening – 'Your friend is so gorgeous I've literally lost the ability to breathe, if I die before rehearsal tomorrow I'm leaving my entire Sondheim record collection to you,' and 'I take back every slur I've ever intoned against your taste in men, every single one, you're brilliant and I love you more than you will ever know.' But then I checked my messages again, and all I could see was 'Oh my god, what was I thinking when I invited him to spend the night, you know what they say about guys like me, a boy like that / wants one thing only, that's what he must think of me, that's what I've stooped to' and 'How could I have put out on the first date, he must think I'm some sort of cheap easy slut, I'm never going to be able to face him again which means I won't be able to go to ninety percent of your shows, is the understudy any good?'"

"That's great," Blaine laughed. "So I guess it all worked out."

"Yes, after _several _of my best and most insightful personal counseling sessions," she said with a smile, pulling open the outside door of the restaurant, "Adam realized he hadn't morphed into an errant Casanova, Kurt accepted that his name and the word promiscuous would simply never be used in the same sentence, and they both recognized that they were just so mutually crazy about one other, practically at first sight, that they simply couldn't keep their hands off each other."

"Looks like it," he said, glancing through the clear inside door at the half-filled table for four in the far corner, sounding more curious than jealous. She leaned forward to sneak a better look at the two men sitting close together, just in time to see Kurt laugh softly and lean in, kissing Adam a little too softly and slowly for a public setting, hand sliding down from where it had been resting between his boyfriend's shoulder blades to rub lightly against his lower back. Kurt had had a few boyfriends between Blaine and Adam, none close to as serious as either one of them, and through it all she had usually known him to avoid overt public displays of affection like the plague. There was something about Adam that seemed to relax him, more than even she could, and she had long prided herself on being the only person who could soothe him when he was in a mood.

The smiling white-haired owner came bustling through the inside door, winking his congratulations at her and shepherding them over to the far corner table. Only a couple of patrons turned toward her with dawning recognition as they passed by. She was glad Kurt had chosen this place – diner-like but cozier, an inexpensive throw-back to their old days in Hell's Kitchen. As it turned out, eclectic apartments on the Lower East Side weren't close enough to the Theater District for two first-year NYADA students from Ohio to get around with much ease, although they'd considered a move after Kurt had decided to change direction and transfer to Parsons, and she'd gotten better at navigating the city.

"Ah, _here_ they are," said Kurt, pulling out a chair for Blaine in a faux gesture of chivalry with his arm still around Adam, who pulled such a silly face at Rachel across the table that she burst out laughing, and suddenly things weren't close to as awkward as she'd expected.

XXXXX

"So," said Kurt in a business-like tone once Blaine had polished off the banana-walnut pancakes, and Rachel was sipping her second refill of English Breakfast tea pensively, "I have a proposition for you all. You two, especially" – he indicated his best friend and boyfriend – "but don't think you're getting out of this either, Blaine."

"I'm intrigued," Blaine said with a grin, reaching for his glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice. "Adam, are you in on this?"

"Not at all, I'm equally intrigued."

"_Well_, Rachel and Adam are both aware that on a recent business trip to Potomac, Maryland, I was commissioned to design a special evening gown for a well-known heiress of the Marriott hotel family, and she was absolutely _thrilled_ by the final product –"

"_Genius_," she cut in, beaming, reaching across the table for his hand, as Adam pressed a fond kiss to his cheek.

"– but what I haven't told you yet is that as an extra sign of her gratitude, she's absolutely _insisted _that I accept an all-expenses-paid, week-long stay for _five_ in – wait for it – the Marriott's beachfront hotel in East_ Kauai_, _Hawaii_."

"Are you kidding? Here I was planning to drag you to L.A. for our second anniversary, and you totally one-upped me," Adam laughed.

"Before you say anything particularly self-indulging, Rachel, Broadway can deal without you two for a week. It's the _perfect_ getaway for us _all_ to celebrate the professional accomplishments of two of the people I love most in the world. Blaine's teaching job doesn't start 'til the fall, and Santana is _more_ than on track to complete her residency at the end of the year even if she plays hooky for a month, she admitted it herself. Now, I know this all doesn't sound like much to the international traveler in our midst –"

"God no, Kurt, they filmed the opening scenes of _Jurassic Park_ on Kauai," said Blaine incredulously, "a helicopter ride on that island would make my life. But wait, I get these two, but why on earth would you take _me _with you guys?"

"Blaine, you _were_ my support network in this city, before and after we were together," Kurt said patiently, "you and Rachel and Santana too, oddly enough. Just because I'm happily in love with this one here doesn't mean you don't mean a great deal to me, as a dear old friend with whom I have a lot of catching up to do. Besides," he added with a bit of a smirk, "this trip is half about celebrating Rachel, and I hear sex on an exotic island can be quite the celebration."

"Kurt," she said, ignoring Blaine's flushing face and placing a hand on her best friend's arm. He looked up at her with that smile he reserved just for her, the smile that represented their most heartfelt high school locker conversations and all of their breakfast dates at Tiffany's rolled into one. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

"Yes," said Kurt firmly. "If it's _this _you're referring to," he gestured between her and Blaine, "I can't pretend to understand the sexual compatibility, nor was the whole sex-without-dating thing ever my personal style, but I'm at least mature enough by now to respect a consensual arrangement between two adults who just happen to be my best friend and my ex-boyfriend. And it's not as if you weren't planning on telling me anyway, doll."

"There you go," said Adam, encouragingly. "So we're doing this?"

Her eyes flickered to Blaine, who cocked an eyebrow at her, and she couldn't help but smile. It _would_ be a wonderful way to celebrate her accomplishments, relax and rejuvenate and turn a new page – and if Kurt was happy to turn a blind eye when it came to certain things she'd rather continue doing, well, then she was more than all right with _that_.

"We're doing this."

XXXXX

**Thanks to everyone for the kind reviews! What did you think of this installment? Rachel's emotions can be surprisingly difficult to capture, but I hope I did her justice. **

**Next chapter: The vacation begins - room-sharing arrangements, beach, karaoke, and some Blaine/Rachel development (with a glimpse at both of their viewpoints). **


	4. Maybe You Could Take Me In

**Chapter 4: Maybe You Could Take Me In**

"Santana, I'd been meaning to ask you," said Adam suddenly, "how did it go with Aziza the other night? She's bartended a few of our cast parties by now, great girl from what I can tell."

Rachel turned back from her position on Kurt's other arm to glance at Santana, who was sitting on a bench in the Marriott's open-air foyer with Blaine, taking in the salty sea spray and the soft strains of island music floating through the hall.

"Oh, she's great," said Santana with a grin, "definitely good with her hands, and I'm not just talking about mixing a mean drink."

Kurt rolled his eyes to the blue sky visible through the rafters of the building, while Adam persisted, "So you're still seeing her then?"

"Calm yourself, Aarons, one night's romp and you're already planning the wedding?"

"I'm just saying, first-date sex can still be a valid precursor to an extremely fulfilling relationship," Adam continued earnestly. ("Oh my god," Kurt mumbled into Rachel's shoulder, sounding torn between amusement and horror; she ruffled his hair affectionately, giving Blaine a nearly imperceptible wink over the top of his head). "I'm certainly not suggesting you should ever feel compelled to settle down, but you'd be surprised at how quickly you'll find yourself ready for a deeper commitment when you meet the right person –"

"Ah, and here I was thinking you had _my _nuptials in mind," Santana smirked, looking thoroughly entertained.

"Adam, that's enough, honey," Kurt interjected, quickly cutting off the exchange, "let's save _that _conversation for another day – or, you know, another year – ah, hello, we'd like to check in and pick up our room keys, reservations for two double rooms and a single room under the name Hummel?"

"Here you are," the woman behind the counter smiled at him, "all of the rooms have views of the ocean."

"Magnificent."

"Okay," said Adam, "we'll take these two for our room, babe, so that leaves the other double and the single –"

He and Kurt stared at each other in a ten-second wordless exchange; then they both grinned, and Adam tipped all of the remaining keys into Rachel's hand. "All yours, darling, you sort out the rest of the rooms."

"I'm not deciding this," she hissed, but Kurt patted her on the back and Adam pushed her toward Blaine and Santana. She could hear them giggling softly as they ascended the staircase behind her.

Santana and Blaine were still laughing together on the bench when she reached them, plan in mind. "I don't like to be alone in an unfamiliar place," she said coyly, pressing all the keys but one into Santana's palm, "so I'd like to take the double room, unless you two were set on rooming together."

"Little fatigued after all but living with this one for half of college," Blaine said with a wink, "we'll manage apart, somehow."

"Well then," she said archly, "I'll let you two argue over which one will have the good fortune to cuddle with me on a nightly basis."

"Oh, we will," said Santana, a mischievous tone creeping into her voice. "Hurry along now, Berry, leave this up to us."

XXXXX

The ocean view was breath-taking. The double bed was nestled right in the window, forming a little alcove, and her first thought was that she'd like to lie there forever on her stomach with her chin in her hands, iPod spinning a playlist of songs whose unifying theme was a sense of peace with the world.

Before she could get started, though, there was a soft knock on the door. She opened it a crack to see Blaine standing there in his Converse shoes and dark wash jeans.

"Hi."

"Hi," she replied, failing to hide a little smile.

He held out his matching key. "Santana and I have mutually agreed that she has more game than I do, by which we mean she's at least two and a half times more likely to sexile a potential roommate than I am. Hence her command of the single room."

"Hmm, I can believe that," she teased, "from what I've seen of Santana's bathing suit selections."

"Leaving aside your implication about _my_ desirability in a bathing suit – which my awesome plaid board shorts and I will put to rest in short order – I'd have to concur."

XXXXX

Rachel stretched out in her beach chair, smoothing out the soft fabric of the white one-piece bandeau she'd picked out at Nordstrom. She was just adjusting the towel she was lying on to prevent the wooden slats from marking her back when she heard Santana's phone ring twice in the chair next to hers.

"Santana Lopez," the girl responded, brow furrowing. "Neil Advani, did you _not _get the memo that I'm in – Cristina Estevez asked for me? No, no, I'll take it, you buffoon, patch her through –"

"She accepted a work call within the first six hours of landing here, hand it over, you," Blaine laughed, elbowing Kurt in the side where he was curled up with Adam in the next chair over; his ex-boyfriend glared as he surrendered a ten-dollar bill. Rachel smiled a little, but looked thoughtfully at Santana, watching as her friend stretched long, tanned legs further out into the sun's reach, now conversing animatedly in an erratic mix of English and Spanish. Santana had quietly mentioned Cristina's name to her a few times; the girl was barely sixteen years old and her youngest obstetrics patient at the hospital. While she never said much, Rachel believed that Cristina trusted Santana most of all the residents in the same practice, and that Santana had taken it upon herself to be a source of emotional support for the young girl who had chosen to carry her baby to term. She had confided this speculation to Quinn once, when Quinn had visited New York for a real estate conference a few months ago and surprised her by asking if she might stop by Rachel's apartment to catch up.

"Maybe it's a little self-centered of me," Quinn had said with a wry smile, spearing a layer of the vegan lasagna Rachel had hastily unfrozen for dinner with a fork, "but I wouldn't be surprised if she felt obligated to take a girl like that under her wing, just to make sure she won't be as screwed up as I was."

"I – can see where you're coming from," she had replied earnestly, not knowing quite what else to say – "but we girls were all a little messed up in high school, in our own ways – weren't we? Well – except Tina. Definitely except Tina. And _possibly_ Mercedes –"

"You were the least messed up of all of us."

"Quinn, my _best friend _swears to this day that I was borderline sociopathic in high school."

"Tina and Mercedes didn't have much of a reason to be messed up in the first place," said Quinn with a half-amused, half-sad little laugh, "but Santana and I could have _really _screwed you up, would have, really, if you'd been anyone else but you."

It was moments like those – Quinn sitting at her kitchen table staring into her bowl of pasta; Kurt quietly admitting to her, halfway through college, that Quinn had sobbed into his phone for two straight nights freshman year when her roommate at Ohio Wesleyan went missing after two days of classes and she found the word 'manhands' scrawled in the girl's old high school yearbook; Santana lying on a Kauai beach in a supermodel-style, royal purple bikini, complete with push-up halter top and barely-there side-tie bottoms, and letting a pregnant teenage girl pour her heart out to her over the line – that reminded her why she couldn't bring herself to hold grudges if she tried.

Starting to feel a little warm from the sun's rays, she scooted off the beach chair – pulling off the towel underneath her and slipping her feet into sandals – and came face to face with Blaine.

"Hey," he said quietly, looking carefully into her face. He rarely gave her the sweeping once-over when they were in public, clearly out of a sense of decency, but his body in those plaid board shorts he was wearing was making her fight to reciprocate. "I'm venturing out to the water, want to come?"

She didn't really feel like getting wet. "I'm going back inside for a bit, but here – take my towel, you can return it to the room once you're done with it." She draped it lightly over his shoulders and knelt to the sand to pull her cover-up out of her beach bag; she felt his hand graze her upper arm and elbow before he turned out to the edge of the beach.

An hour later, she had him pressed up against the inside door of their room, towel and cover-up lying abandoned on the floor.

"Was trying to be a gentleman," he said in a low voice, breathing hard and uneven as she pressed kisses to his throat and chest, hands wandering along the length of his torso, "…rather than jumping you in that little bathing suit, but you…seem to have had other plans."

"I shouldn't," she admitted, "it's not even five-o'-clock, we're going to break the no-sex-before-eight-PM rule–"

"Screw the rule."

XXXXX

"Doesn't this place close in fifteen minutes?" Blaine observed, watching Santana push open the door of Trees Lounge.

"Yeah, well if _some_ of us hadn't been engaging in a little _afternoon delight_ we might have made dinner on time, which means that our little stroll through Coconut Marketplace would have started a lot earlier, which means that we could have made it here much earlier than one in the morning."

"Slippery slope," he said lightly, trying to meet Rachel's eye behind Santana's back, but instead catching the gaze of Santana's companion of the moment, a Paris native-turned-local airline stewardess she'd met on the beach. The young woman smiled at him, looking a little bemused. She was sweet but didn't possess any of the sass Santana usually liked in a sexual partner, and Blaine privately suspected that Santana had picked her up partly because her name happened to be Adele.

"Look, they have karaoke tonight!" Rachel had materialized on his other side, and was pointing to a little stage in the corner, where someone was replacing a microphone. Instead of island music, he could hear the last few strains of a Bon Jovi song, and the soft applause of patrons sitting close to the stage.

"That's right," said a bartender next to her, turning to them with a friendly smile. "Normally we've got a nice line-up of local bands, but it's open mic tonight, and we've got a DJ and dancing tomorrow. Either of you care to put your name in? We've just run through the list and we've still got a few minutes before we close up."

"He'll do it," she said at once, attempting to push him to the stage.

"Are you kidding? _Rachel Berry_ is passing up an opportunity to take solo stage?" He looked around to exchange an incredulous look with Santana, but she had gravitated over to the other end of the bar and was already locking lips with Adele, with no apparent hope of surfacing soon.

"Well, I find that taking the Palace Theatre stage six days a week tends to satisfy my performer's instinct," she responded, blithely. "Oh, go on," she laughed, giving him another playful push when he continued to resist. "I haven't seen you perform in years. There was a time you craved the spotlight nearly as much as I did. It almost makes me wonder if you still have it in you, Blaine Warbler."

Well, he was certainly going to take _that _challenge. "I'll do it. Care to accompany me, in the spirit of proving I can keep up with Broadway's finest?"

"Oh, I'd rather watch, but feel free to serenade me if you have the urge," came the flirtatious reply.

"You're on," he said, winking at her and heading over to seize the microphone, to a light smattering of cheerful applause.

_She's blood, flesh and bone _

_No tucks or silicone _

_She's touch, smell, sight, taste and sound_

He watched her closely in the audience; her eyes were fixed on him, eyebrows slightly raised the way they always used to be back in Glee, before she let herself get caught up in another person's song.

_Somehow I can't believe _

_That anything should happen_

Her lips were twitching already, eyes starting to shine a little, and he knew he was about to deliver.

_'Cause she's so high... _

_High above me, she's so lovely_

_She's so high..._

_Like Cleopatra, Joan of Arc, or Aphrodite _

Emboldened by the whoops in the audience, he detached the microphone from its stand and descended the stage, directing his words right at Rachel.

_First class and fancy free _

_She's high society_

Santana had surfaced from her make-out session, and was now surveying them with a grin on her face.

_What could a guy like me _

_Ever really offer?_

Rachel was smiling widely now, swaying her head in time to the music as she mouthed along to the words.

_Like Cleopatra, Joan of Arc, or Aphrodite _

_She's so high... _

_High above me _

He finished to loud cheers from the audience. Grinning, he handed over the microphone to a staff member, and turned to find Rachel close at his shoulder.

"I must admit you channel Tal Bachman quite nicely," she conceded in a low voice, as if the way her eyes had danced at him throughout the performance hadn't been enough to reveal her enthusiasm. "But I have to ask – was that a serenade or reverse psychology?"

"Whichever one works on you," he said with a grin, and she gave him a light slap on the arm.

"Not a bad show, Anderson," Santana pronounced as she made her way over to them, pulling Adele along with her by the hand, "glad to see you've still got it, although I have to give props to Rachel here for making you sing for your supper. All in favor of livening things up here tomorrow night? DJ and dancing here starting at ten. We'll drag the lovebirds too."

XXXXX

"So – _really_, what's the dude like?"

"Nice," he repeated, shifting one of the water bottles he was holding to the other arm so he could adjust his headset and tuck the phone attached to it more securely into his shorts pocket. "If I could think of a more descriptive word I'd have used it by now. Kurt said it unsettled him at first. He's been bracing himself for a blow-up for a year and a half and it never came."

"Well, good for him," he heard Mike Chang laugh through the headset. "They seemed pretty wrapped up in each other in that red carpet interview clip Quinn emailed around."

"This is seriously coming from the guy voted 'Most Likely to Make Out with His Girlfriend in an Inappropriate Setting' in our Glee Superlatives contest? That category was _created_ for Finn and you still won."

"Shut up, Anderson."

He grinned, digging his feet further into the sand as he scanned the edge of the sea. He thought he could just make out a tiny pink-clad figure making its way up the beach. "So how's the co-founder of Dayton's finest up-and-coming dance studio doing?"

"I just said I'm fine," said Mike evasively.

"I was referring to your business partner." He silently counted to ten, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"She's great," said Mike, finally. "Beautiful. Same as usual. How's Santana?"

Blaine rolled his eyes at the brightening sky. It was far too early for Mike's avoidance tactics; unfortunately, he was still jet-lagged. "Same as usual," he echoed, "top of her game. I'm pretty sure she had a _ménage à trois_ with a French-speaking Hawaiian Airlines stewardess and what might have been a traditional hula dancer last night."

"That sounds like someone who's completely over her old high school flame," he heard Mike mutter, not quite disguising the hopeful tinge of his voice.

"Nah-uh. You've got to listen to me on this one, Mike. I spent more time in college with her than I did with _anyone_ else and vice versa, and I am telling you, just because she's got the most active sex life of any medical resident with an 80-hour work week you'll ever meet, doesn't mean she's over Brit by any stretch of the imagination. You'd be surprised at what someone can keep bottled up for ten years."

"_Santana_ broke up with _Brit_. And even if it was the other way around, doesn't mean she couldn't get over it. Tina broke up with me, I got over her. Kurt broke up with you, and you got over him, or at least that's what you tell me anyway."

"Kurt and I grew apart," he said patiently. "Same with you and Tina. Yeah, we both moped about it for a while, but we were just in denial. Santana broke up with Brit because she realized Brit would never really get past the best-friends-who-have-sex phase, never get to where she wanted it to be, and it killed her to do it. She was in love with Brit, and Brit just loved her. She'd never say it, but I'd bet anything that Santana's still cut up about it."

"So what are you saying, I should just _not act_ on my feelings for –"

"No, idiot. You just need to do Santana the courtesy of _telling her_ if something happens between you two. I'm not going to do it for you."

"Fine," Mike groaned. "Why did I even tell _you_ about this?"

"Asian blood bond, or something."

"Probably won't even need to tell her," Mike added glumly. "There won't be anything to tell."

"Hey, you don't know that," he said, in what he hoped vaguely was a soothing voice; the figure he'd been keeping an eye on from afar was now pounding up the sand toward him, coral pink tank top and light gray shorts and bouncing ponytail clearly visible, and he was starting to lose concentration. "Look, I got to go, man – got to get back to, uh, enjoying the view."

Mike snorted. "Hot guy sprinting up the beach at three-o'-clock position?"

"Yeah," he lied. "Talk soon, good luck with Brit."

"Thanks, catch you later. Say hi to Rachel and Kurt and everyone."

"Hi," Rachel said at once when she caught up to him, more breathless than usual for her level of fitness, "my extensive vocal exercises have enabled deep breathing skills that _normally_ prevent stress to my diaphragm while running, but I seem to have developed a bit of a side stitch situation. Running on such an irregular surface is apparently more difficult than I thought."

"C'mere," he said, frowning with concern, and handed her the water bottles. "Here, face this way," he added, turning her to face the waves crashing in the distance and ducking around behind her. He slipped his arms around her from behind and tucked his chin over her shoulder, leaning down to rub his hands gently over the side of her torso. She rolled her eyes at him, but didn't pull away. After a couple of minutes, once her breathing had become slower and more relaxed, he glanced sideways at her, just in time to catch the soft traces of a smile as she gazed out over the water. "Better?"

"Surprisingly, yes. Thank you," she said, disentangling his arms but giving him a grateful little peck on the cheek. She sat down on the closest beach chair, stretching her legs out onto the intersection between grass and sand for a moment.

"I just got off the phone with Mike Chang," he informed her, sitting down on the chair next to her and lifting her legs into his lap before she could protest. He reached into his shoulder bag for a towel and a bottle of lotion, and began dusting sand off her toes.

"Has he admitted to Brittany that he's falling for her yet?" she said at once, her eyes widening, poking him in the side with her newly clean foot in a way that was kind of adorable.

"Not yet," he said. "And don't you intervene, he doesn't know I've told you. Shea butter lotion?"

"Hmm, passable." He could feel her arching her feet, curling her toes unconsciously as he spread the smooth lotion over her soles. He bit his lip, silently watching her eyes flutter closed as he ran his fingers up her ankles, and wondered if she even knew how intoxicating she could be without a hint of makeup or perfume. Perhaps he should tell her.

"Have you told him" – her eyes were still closed, almost tightly now, the way she emoted in song sometimes – "have you told him about the – well, the _erotic_ aspect of our friendship?"

"No – wait, since when are we voluntarily telling people?" he asked her, feeling a little confused when she frowned slightly. "Kurt aside, assuming you would have gone through with it if he hadn't found out on his own, and that's a special case."

"I didn't say we were," she said quickly, eyes blinking open. "I'm simply observing that Mike has confided in you a secret related to his personal life, whereas it seems you haven't reciprocated the gesture."

"Well, it's different, isn't it?" he said, honestly a little bewildered at the comparison. "I mean, if I felt like I was falling in love with you, I'd probably be bursting for advice from my friends on how to handle our friendship. But that's not really the case here."

"Well, of course it isn't, that would be ridiculous and quite out of character for you, I might add."

There was a pause. Then – "I hope you don't think I'm expressing discomfort about having sexual relations with you without the customary accompaniment of deeper romantic feelings or public acknowledgment," she added, drawing her knees up to her chest, away from him. "I'm very happy to continue protecting you with my silence against more narrow-minded people who would make presumptions about your primary sexual identity if they knew about our situation, and I'd rather my personal life stayed out of the more _sordid_ musical theater tabloids anyway. If you heard an edge to my tone, it was probably because I wouldn't like to think that you prefer to keep this secret from most of our friends because you're _embarrassed_ that you find me physically attractive. If you are, I'd admittedly be a little hurt, although I can understand where you would be coming from. After all, I've never been commonly perceived to possess attributes that would tempt even a straight man, let alone a gay one, which one could argue makes your – physiological response to me slightly perplexing."

"Are you kidding?" he said incredulously, pulling her back to him, drawing her close. "Okay, we have only about twenty minutes until we meet the gang for breakfast, so I'm going to have to do the short and probably censored version, but I'm about to give you a high-level view of the top ten reasons Rachel Berry is sexier than any woman you'll find in New York, Ohio, or the Philippines. You ready for this?"

"Only if you give me the long version after we come back from Trees Lounge tonight," she whispered against his ear, giggling softly as he traced his fingers over the couple centimeters of lightly tanned skin between her tank top and her shorts.

"Oh, I definitely will."

XXXXX

**Hope you enjoyed the surprise (audio) cameo by Mike Chang! As you can imagine, his reveal to Blaine plays into Santana's storyline.**

**As always, would love reviews/feedback.**

**Next chapter: The gang goes out on the town, with sexual and emotional tension running high for Kurt and Adam, and Rachel and Blaine. **


	5. What Do You Say to Jumpin' Off the Edge?

**Chapter 5: What Do You Say to Jumpin' Off the Edge?**

"I must say, I'm rather enjoying the venue," Kurt observed, glancing around Trees Lounge from his and Adam's vantage point, a cozy booth fairly close to the bar. "I don't think I'm quite up for dancing tonight, though – had enough head-spinning moments during the helicopter ride today. – Rach, dear, what are you doing back here so soon – did you ditch the guy in the bachelor party already? I thought he seemed quite pleasant, if a bit of a downtown man to your uptown girl –"

"He was nice, but I didn't find him particularly – compelling," said Rachel vaguely as she slipped into the seat across from them, clutching her half-finished sangria. He rolled his eyes at her, reaching out to steal a piece of fruit from the edge of her glass.

"Excuse me," said an unfamiliar voice, and the three of them looked up to see a pretty young woman with soft reddish curls approaching them, trailed by a quiet-looking dark-haired man. "Sorry to bother, but are you guys friends with that good-looking man at the far end of the bar?"

"Ah," said Kurt, glancing in the direction she was pointing to see Blaine collecting a drink from the bartender. "Yes, indeed we are." He leaned over to whisper to Adam, hint of amusement in his voice, "Blaine getting attention from a stranger? Some things never change."

"Oh, good," said the girl, smiling widely, "forgive me for asking, but would you be able to confirm whether he's interested in women or men? My gaydar's pretty terrible, I've been known to fall for –"

"Gay," Rachel cut in loudly before he could say anything, and Kurt turned to see her surveying the girl with – was that an expression of _dislike_? He blinked, and the actress' countenance immediately transformed into a frighteningly artificial smile. "He's definitely gay. Completely, one hundred-percent gay, you might even say."

"Oh," said the girl, not looking the least bit put out, "that's actually great! Raj" – she grabbed the arm of the man behind her, continuing in a loud stage whisper, "did you hear that, now you don't have an excuse anymore, go over and talk to him!"

"Um, I'm not sure about that," the guy mumbled, looking embarrassed.

"Oh go on, you just _said_ you thought he was hot, what's the worst that could happen…"

"Fine," Raj mumbled, flushing even darker than before, "but if he rejects me I'm blaming you, Steph."

"I say go for it," said Adam with an encouraging smile, downing the rest of his drink in one, "he's a great guy, totally approachable, isn't he, Kurt?"

"Mm-hmm," he said absently, too occupied staring at his best friend as she directed her attention back to her drink, fake smile sliding slowly off her face. Santana had characterized Rachel's perspective on her relationship with Blaine as purely sexual and highly open, but he was starting to question this interpretation.

"Thanks guys!" called Steph brightly, pushing Raj in Blaine's general direction and turning toward the ladies' room on the opposite end of the room.

"_Rachel_! I need back-up here!"

He turned to see Santana hurrying over to their table, just brimming with energy. He barely had time to admire the natural glow of her complexion – an hour on the dance floor always did wonders for her – before she was hauling Rachel to her feet, grinning devilishly. "Next song the DJ's going to spin is my _personal_ request, and while there are scores of hot ladies here, I'd bet money _none_ of them know their way around a Go-Go's song – come on, girl –"

Rachel's face brightened considerably, and she let herself be dragged away, clutching Santana's hand in hers as they ran to the floor.

_See the people walking down the street _

_Fall in line just watching all their feet _

"Funny, I have a distinct memory of exotic dancing on a table to this song in our high school cafeteria senior year," he said wryly. "Before being attacked with pounds of spaghetti and peas and the most questionable beef gravy you'll ever encounter south of New York."

"I'd watch you exotic dance on a table any night," Adam whispered suggestively, breath warm against Kurt's ear. "Minus the food fight."

"At least Rachel's having a lot more fun this time around," he mused, watching her head bob on the floor close to Santana's as the girls commanded the dance floor. "Though" – his eyes strayed to the bar, where Blaine and Raj already appeared to be in deep conversation – "I have an odd suspicion that a quietly handsome Indian gentleman may be single-handedly ruining her night."

"Huh?"

"You are so oblivious when you're tipsy," he said affectionately, leaning over to kiss his boyfriend on the lips. "Oh, don't be ridiculous, we're in public," he added in a low voice after a little while, but he couldn't help responding to the way Adam was pulling him half into his lap in their now-empty booth, kissing down his neck and throat now, mouth lingering on that sensitive spot above his right collarbone that always made him shudder. He mentally gave up, running his hands all over Adam's back and shoulders, willing his boyfriend to press him harder against the side wall of the booth, pull their bodies closer together. He was starting to recall that sense of urgency he'd felt, they'd both felt, that night in Adam's kitchen after their first date; how he'd been the one to lean down from his perch on the counter to kiss the slightly taller man first, emboldened by his second glass of wine; how the innocent gesture had somehow morphed into what had to be the most passionate make-out session of his life – the taste of Adam's tongue sliding against the roof of his mouth, his legs hooked around the back of Adam's knees, bodies pressed hard together from the chest down and hands wandering desperately.

"Adam," he groaned now, "Adam, this is the moment we either stop, or get the hell out of this lounge and back to the Marriott."

"Marriott. Definitely the Marriott."

"Yeah, let's _go_."

XXXXX

Kurt lay very still with his head resting on Adam's chest, listening to his heartbeat as it slowed to a more measured pace. It was moments like this that he felt he might never be happier, never more at peace with the world.

Carefully, he turned onto his side so he could look up into his boyfriend's face by the headboard, and met a pair of gray eyes gazing into his.

"Hi," he said softly.

"Come up here, beautiful, you're too far away."

"You are _such_ a needy boyfriend," Kurt teased gently, pressing a little kiss to Adam's shoulder and another to the tip of his nose as he scooted up the bed to lie down next to him. "And that's coming from _me_."

"Mm, not ashamed," Adam laughed, tightening his arms around his waist. Kurt could feel him start to trace little patterns on his back; music notes, he realized as he nestled closer.

_Wise men say / only fools rush in / but I can't help / falling in love with you_

He closed his eyes for a minute, breathing in the mingled scent of his cologne on Adam's bare skin and the salty sea air drifting in through the window curtains.

"Do you ever wish," he said quietly, "that you could just stop time in a single moment? Like now, I think I want to lie here on this island _forever_, with you, and just forget the world."

"You paraphrased Snow Patrol."

"Maybe." He shivered pleasurably as Adam leaned in to kiss him, soft and slow and deep.

"I don't, you know," said Adam after a little while, "want to stop time, I mean. I used to – all the time. Total stop-and-smell-the-flowers kind of guy."

"What happened?" he asked, pulling back to look into his boyfriend's face.

"Well – _you _happened. It's just – Kurt, I fall more in love with you every day, and when I'm with you I'm just not content with staying still, I want to keep moving forward for the rest of my life. With you."

There was a slightly awkward silence, and then he felt Adam reach for his hand, squeeze it gently.

"Too fast? I'm sorry babe, I know you got a little freaked when I started talking to Santana about commitment and settling down…"

"No," said Kurt quickly, "I mean, yes, but I'm _crazy _about you and can't _imagine_ being without you so _please _don't take this the wrong way –"

"I won't, baby, I promise. Try me, okay?"

He closed his eyes again, searching for the right words. "You grew up in West Hollywood," he said finally, "and I know you say you were a bit of a fish out of water, you and your Broadway calling in a land where film was everything, and I'm not trying to diminish that, honey – but it was _West Hollywood_, and you didn't leave because you couldn't stand it. You left because there was something better-suited to you, but you wouldn't have been _completely_ miserable there, would you?"

"No, I wouldn't have been, that's fair," said Adam, tracing a finger across his cheek.

"Growing up in Lima, Ohio, it was – you know what it was like in that town, Adam, Santana got outed in a stranger's political campaign before she'd told her _parents _– coming to New York was nominally fulfilling a dream, but sometimes I think the real draw was escaping an existence I _hated _– _moving forward_, for me, has invariably been about escaping something I couldn't stand about my life.

"And now that I'm _so _happy," he added softly, "with a job I love and the opportunity to see some of my oldest, closest friends every week, and with _you _most of all, sometimes I worry a little that if I try to change things too much or too soon, it'll all come crashing down – just like my Lima Loser status, only this time I'll be devastated about it."

"Hey," said Adam gently, "the last thing I want to do is start planning for our future before you're emotionally ready for it, okay? Just make sure to provide advance notice when you are, though, because we'll need to plan heavily around Rachel's tour schedule if we're going to let her carry out her vision of serving as a surrogate for our unborn children."

"Okay," said Kurt, snuggling closer, "I love you."

XXXXX

In Blaine's experience, the most innocent-looking guys tended to be the best kissers. Raj was no exception to the rule. Blaine had thought he was very attractive from the moment he'd approached him at the bar with a shy but sincere smile, and it turned out once they'd gotten over the initial awkwardness that they had a decent amount in common. (Raj had taught for two years overseas in Mumbai after graduating from Cornell, around the same time when Blaine had been teaching in Manila, and had a few acquaintances who overlapped with Blaine at NYU. Raj was in the process of getting his MBA at Wharton with the goal of pursuing healthcare management – it turned out he was in town for two of his classmates' destination wedding – and sounded genuinely impressed when Blaine told him the name of the New York hospital where his best college friend was completing her residency). The conversation flowed well enough to keep the drinks coming, and an hour and a half later, he found himself heavily making out with the guy against the inside door of one of the back rooms in Trees Lounge.

He hadn't been intimate with a man since he'd formally broken up with an on-again, off-again boyfriend about two months before he'd left Manila for good – in fact, he realized with a strange jolt, he'd only been with Rachel since then – so he had to admit it felt really _hot_, the slight roughness of Raj's lips and the way he tasted like good beer and the firmness of his chest against Blaine's hands. But he couldn't shake off a weird feeling that there was something almost fruitless about this; that he'd come out of the back room pulling this stranger with him, maybe planning to head over to Raj's hotel, and he'd catch a glimpse of Rachel spinning on the dance floor in her little pink dress, and the thought of taking her back to their bedroom might just crowd everything else from his mind.

"Hey, Raj," he panted, pulling away for a moment. "This has been – really great, and I really am attracted to you, but I'm – honestly I'm not sure I want to go further than this tonight, I hope that's okay with you…"

"It's fine," said Raj after a pause, still breathing a little heavily, "look, I wasn't even expecting you to be up for – I mean, we didn't even talk about whether you were single or anything –"

"I'm not" – he hesitated – "I'm not _seeing_ anyone, exactly, but I am sort of here with someone, more of a – timing thing, you know?"

"Yeah, I know, it's not a problem. I'm – I'm heading back to the East Coast tomorrow mid-day, so probably won't see you again here, but maybe we could meet up once you're back in New York – not too far away from –"

"Yeah, sure – I'll look you up," he said awkwardly, not sure why he didn't feel up to asking for the number of a smart, sweet guy he was genuinely attracted to, and Raj didn't push it.

XXXXX

Rachel was sitting on the low counter of the kitchenette when he pushed open the room door – eyes half closed, iPod plugged in, hem of her dress riding mid-way up her thighs.

"Hey," he said quietly, crossing the room to her.

She looked down at him, eyes still half closed. "I thought you were going home with the man who approached you at the bar. Santana said she heard you guys making out in the back room."

"Yeah," he admitted, "yeah, guess I wasn't feeling up to a full-on one-night stand tonight."

"I'm a little tired, too."

"Didn't say I was tired," he said suggestively, reaching over to tug the headphones gently from her ears and place her iPod on the little dock sitting next to her on the counter. "But hey, if you are, I'm happy to do the work."

"Presumptuous," she responded, but she sighed as he began kissing his way up her left leg, ankle and calf and the sensitive spot behind her knee. He paused when he reached the edge of her dress, glancing up at her questioningly; her eyes were screwed shut now, knuckles white against the counter. Gently, he rolled the skirt up, pressing his lips softly against the warm skin of her inner thigh, and felt her tense up immediately; she reached for his face, lifting it up to hers for a slow, open-mouthed kiss. He could tell she'd been aroused by it, by the direction he'd been going, _had_ to be from the way she was breathing hotly and unevenly into his mouth, from the way she was pressing her body into his, guiding his hand back down to where his face had been before she'd called a halt.

"Rach," he began, pulling away slightly to look into her face.

"Don't stop," she whispered, leaning back in.

"I'm not Rach, it's about sex," he said, reaching up to cup her face gently with both hands. "C'mon, look at me for a sec."

She bit her lip and looked back at him.

"Look," he started awkwardly, "you don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but – I've just always wondered" – it was definitely too late to backtrack now – "if there's a reason why you never, you know, let me go down on you." She was flushing slightly, but still meeting his gaze, which emboldened him a bit. "I mean, we do pretty much everything else, and you're fine with going down on _me_, so I wondered. Is it because you're self-conscious about how you…" – he was definitely flushing too, now – "…because I've tasted my fingers after touching you, and god, I can't even begin to tell you how amazing you taste, so if it's because of that –"

"No," she cut him off, "no, it's not that – it's just – it's stupid, Blaine, it's complicated."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, watching the struggle in her eyes, trying to understand what it meant. "It's not a leading question, I promise."

She was silent for a minute, letting his thumb stroke lightly over her cheek. Then she said softly, "The first time I let someone – it was also my first time, that night, going all the way."

"Opening night," he remembered, nodding.

"It happened – _just _before I lost my virginity, and it opened up all of those feelings, reminded me and reinforced why I had chosen that moment to lose something I'd never get back, because I was just a girl in love with a boy and wanting to remember that moment for the rest of my life. And I never regretted it, even when Finn and I fell out of love with each other, but somehow although I've managed to decouple most sexual activity including penetrative sex from those feelings, I've been reluctant to let anyone in when it comes to _this_, there's just something so _intimate_ about letting someone else take such complete control, so much so that I've never allowed any of my decidedly less steady boyfriends over the past ten years to do it." She let out a deep breath. "It's stupid, isn't it?"

"No, it's not," he said, as gently as possible. "It – reminds me of _Pretty Woman_, a little bit."

Her voice sounded a little strained when she laughed, but she leaned forward to press her lips against his again. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and was just starting to work his hands up through her soft hair when she pulled back, resting her forehead lightly against his.

"I want to," she confessed, "you turn me on _so much_, and I want to feel your mouth on me _everywhere_. I'm just afraid it will be too intimate for me, Blaine, it's not as if we don't have boundaries."

"Rach – Rach, just give me a minute to choose the right words here, okay?" When she put it like _that_ – but he couldn't just lose focus, he needed to know that he wasn't taking advantage.

He exhaled, deeply. "So I think," he said finally, "that while being on the receiving end of oral sex is obviously something that crosses a certain intimacy boundary for you, and I completely understand that, this wouldn't _necessarily_ fall outside of the bounds of what we normally do together. I mean, setting aside the fact that we have sex, kissing is something we do a _lot_ that's technically a very intimate thing, and it works because we _do_ have an emotional relationship, we've been close friends for ten years, Rach. So the fact that we kiss, that just says that we're people who are attracted enough to each other to be physically intimate, but also care enough about each other that we enjoy it and it's not meaningless. So I think you could argue that this would be kind of similar, for us.

"That being said," he added quickly, "I really, really don't want you to do _anything _you're not physically or emotionally ready for. You don't have to be a virgin to want to save a part of yourself for someone you could envision spending the rest of your life with, and I'm obviously not that guy."

She considered for a minute, sitting very still, so still he could barely hear the sound of her breathing anymore. Then she leaned forward, kissing him again with her hands resting against the base of his neck, so slow and sensual and erotic that her meaning couldn't have been clearer to him.

"Sure?" he said breathlessly, a little shaken when she pulled away.

"Yes. Go slow, please," she whispered.

"Very slow, I'll work my way down," he promised, palms starting to feel a little sweaty against the waist of her dress. "Do you want…?" he added a little awkwardly, gesturing to the iPod dock.

"Celine?"

He removed his right hand from her waist, reaching for her iPod to scroll through it one-handed. There were two versions of 'Taking Chances'; one of them an old recording of Rachel's own voice, he realized with a smile. He selected that one and hit play swiftly, turning back to her.

_Don't know much about your life_

_Don't know much about your world_

She laughed a little against his lips at the soft sound of her own voice filling the kitchenette, sounding a bit more relaxed, and he could feel her humming along to the track by the time he reached the base of her throat.

_And maybe this is goin' too fast_

_And maybe it's not meant to last_

She was already easing her skirt up with one hand as he kissed down her abdomen, hand that wasn't tangled in the fabric beginning to trace patterns up the back of neck, across his scalp.

_But what do you say to takin' chances_

_What do you say to jumpin' off the edge?_

XXXXX

She was so hot and wet and _perfect_, the feel and the taste of her and those sounds she was making as she released in long, shuddering gasps. Her hands found his face, cupping it, pulling it back to hers, and he kissed her back hard, tangling his fingers in her hair, blood pounding in his ears at the thought of her tasting him tasting her –

"God, you're so…" he breathed incoherently against her mouth, "gorgeous, I can't even –"

"Blaine, I –" She was still clinging tightly to him, head resting on his shoulder now, and he reached down to run his hand over her forehead, shining with a soft sheen of sweat; he took in her eyelashes, dark and wet against her cheeks…

Were those _tears_?

"Wait," he said helplessly, "Rach, baby" – _shit_, they never called each other that, what was he thinking – "Rach, are you _crying_?"

"No," she said at once, eyes widening, but they were brimming over, how could he have just noticed this? – "I mean, _yes_, but it's nothing, nothing at all –"

_Shit. _"Rach, I'm so sorry, was it something I –"

"No," she repeated stubbornly, now brushing her hand almost angrily across her eyes. "No, you were wonderful, I think it's fairly obvious I enjoyed it. I just – as I said, I'm a little tired, Blaine, and it's also quite normal for a very strong climax to induce that sort of physiological response in women. In fact, I'm certain I've shed a tear or two during or after intercourse before, it's all very normal for me."

He had _never _seen her cry during sex, only when she was singing. "Rachel –"

"_Please _leave this alone, you're overreacting." Her face was dark as she jumped down from the counter, and he half-expected her to run away, leaving him alone in the kitchenette. Instead, she pressed closer to him, hand moving to his belt, trailing downward. "Blaine, you're –"

"_No_" – he already felt like such a jerk – "no, don't be – I'll take care of it myself, I'll just –"

"Let me, please," she whispered, "I _want _to, I just – need a minute, wait for me in the bedroom, please?"

"Okay," he relented, feeling like more of an asshole than he'd ever felt in his entire life – "okay, but _only_ if you really want –"

"I do, I just need to wash my face and I'll be back in a minute, okay?" She leaned up to kiss his cheek quickly before disappearing into the bathroom.

He crossed slowly into the other room, sitting down on the bed with his face in his hands. He'd been an idiot to suggest this, he'd _known _she was uncomfortable with it to begin with. He wouldn't be surprised if she hated him for it. Was this the sort of thing he could ask Kurt about? No, definitely not, he decided. Santana, maybe.

He heard the bathroom door slam in the distance, and he looked up to see her crossing the room toward him, eyes dry and smile a little fixed.

"Rach…" he groaned as she knelt on the bed in front of him, kissing his shoulder as her hands slipped under the back of his shirt to explore his lower back, "Rach, I'm not going to be able to resist this."

"Then _don't_," she breathed, hands gliding around to the front, and he supposed he'd just have to give up thinking for tonight.

XXXXX

**This chapter was pretty exciting to write – definitely a steamier installment, and I hope you enjoyed it. I'd really love to read your feedback, so don't forget to hit the review button along with your (much appreciated) favorites and alerts!**

**Next chapter**: Santana receives a call from an old New Directions teammate (hint: see Chapter 4) that forces her to confront some deep buried feelings. Fortunately, there's some good old drama and tension between at least two of her vacation-mates to help lighten her mood. All from Ms. Lopez's perspective.


	6. Somewhere Underneath Your Skin

Finally back with Chapter 6! This one took longer to write given a busy work schedule, but on the plus side, the Santana-centric episode this past week helped me dig a little deeper into her character for this installment. Thanks so much for your reviews – someone made the comment that Blaine should probably talk to Kurt about Rachel, and I agree. He'll take a little time to get there, but I have a pivotal and rather sweet conversation already planned for Chapter 8, when they are both in a particularly vulnerable place :-)

XXXXX

**Chapter 6: Somewhere Underneath Your Skin**

Santana rotated slowly in front of the bathroom mirror in her hotel room, checking her tan. She'd done a decent job, but she needed to lie out in the sun on her stomach for a little more time to even it out. Maybe she'd do it tomorrow.

She lingered a little bit with her head turned over her shoulder, surveying the butterfly tattoo on her lower back. She had gotten each of her two tattoos with another girl. While the tiny music notes on her right hipbone were only a couple months old, identical to the ones on the back of Rachel's left shoulder, the larger butterfly was around ten years old, dating back to her senior year of high school, in the completely unlicensed basement shop of some sketchy girl she and Brit had met at a party. She'd never tell Rachel her first tattoo was illegal, mostly because she herself had been horrified later when she learned the _correct _methods to sterilize needles in med school, but she couldn't quite bring herself to regret the old rush of excitement she'd felt and the way tangling her hands in blonde hair did everything to ease the pain.

She smirked a bit as she made her way back into the bedroom, remembering how she'd shown Rachel the old butterfly tat when they were both mid-way through changing into their nightclothes, back at her apartment after their visit to the tattoo parlor. Rachel had been more interested in it than she'd expected, and the girl had been in a man-hating mood that night (probably because her latest asshole of a producer boyfriend had just dumped her unceremoniously), which was possibly why she'd asked Santana, hesitantly, if she could try something. When she'd leaned over to kiss Santana shyly on the mouth, Santana had been surprised at how sneaky hot she was, despite all that she'd said against Rachel in high school – the fullness of her lips, the honesty of her little breasts under Santana's fingers when she unhooked the girl's bra, the way her breathing went against all her vocal training and went completely shallow when someone touched her intimately, the way she was so nervous and tentative – tentative in a way she probably never was with boys after high school, tentative in a way Brit had _never _been. If she was being honest with herself, she'd have been completely on board with taking it further, if Rach hadn't been so obviously _not_ ready to go past second base with a girl (and, she suspected, never would be. Kurt had once aptly called her the straightest girl to sport rainbow flags in her school lockers, drag them all to the Pride parade every year without fail, and insert 'my two gay dads' into every conversation).

Instead of a cover-up, she reached for the medical white coat she'd spontaneously tucked into her luggage, and slipped it around her bikini-clad body. She knew she was the last person anyone would have expected to live and breathe work (least of all Rachel, who had spent her entire med school graduation party sobbing onto Kurt's shoulder in remorse that she had once told Santana she was only fit to work on a pole), but her dedication to the OB/GYN practice where she was a resident, to women's health issues, was just a broader extension of her path to feeling comfortable in her own skin. Cristina Estevez, the pregnant sixteen-year-old patient of whom she was fiercely protective, whom she'd take a call from at any hour of the day or night, had asked her once if she could still call herself _Católica_ if she had committed a sin with her body. '_Vergüenza_,' she had said, quoting her mother, and Santana had thought about coming out to her _abuelita_ at that kitchen table a decade ago, the one woman she'd truly looked up to surveying her with disdain and disappointment, shutting her out, and how she'd somehow found the strength to recover from it; to define herself by her own terms.

Her iPhone rang from the bedside table, and she crossed the room to pick it up. _Mike Chang_, she noted on the caller ID, with some surprise. Her contacts list must have synced with her Facebook friends' pages, since she definitely didn't have his number directly. Mercedes called her occasionally, but she was more in touch with Dave Karofsky than she was with Puck, Rachel spoke to Quinn more than she did, she heard all the dish on Sam from Kurt, and Blaine was definitely the only one of the New York gang who still talked regularly with Mike. Blaine was the one who told her he'd quit his boring job in Dayton to start a dance studio with Brit.

Her relationship with Brit didn't extend beyond birthday Facebook wall posts anymore.

"Santana speaking," she said, a little warily.

"Hey Santana, it's Mike. Blast from the past, I know." Mike's voice sounded a little nervous, probably because she'd been a bitch in high school and that was his last real recollection of her. She figured she should put him at ease.

"Mike Chang? A little surprised to hear from you, but not unpleased," she replied, more warmly. "What can I do for you? Knocked up your girlfriend and need some obstetrics advice? If that's it, by the way, I'm glad to hear you have a girlfriend. If your abs are anything like they were back in high school, you deserve one hands-down."

Mike laughed, but it was a decidedly nervous laugh. "No one's pregnant, but I do have a girlfriend now, or at least it's looking that way – some stuff happened yesterday, and it's definitely going in that direction…to be honest, that's actually what I called about."

XXXXX

Santana still remembered all the events surrounding junior year sectionals; it'd been her first time in the spotlight, after all, singing solo on what was possibly her favorite song of all time. She remembered how Artie and Tina had developed some notion that Brittany and Mike were cheating on them because they'd spent so much time together practicing their dance for 'Valerie.' She'd put exactly zero stock in that particular rumor. _She _was the only person with whom Brittany ever cheated_,_ and 'Valerie' was _their _song, hers and Brittany's. Mike was just a medium, a ridiculously talented instrument Brittany used to soar about the stage and express everything that _she _loved about her, everything that she couldn't admit aloud at the time but she always _knew _was the only thing _right_ about her life.

She felt kind of nauseous now, thinking about them, thinking about everything she'd verbally shrugged off on the phone with Mike, probably unconvincingly ("–That's great, just great. –No, uh, water under the bridge. Surprised you thought I'd care. –Blaine said I would? Blaine's a bit of a sick joker sometimes. I'm sure he made up some story about this time we got drunk off our asses at a club in Meatpacking three years ago and I broke down _sobbing_ about how Brit was the one and I'd never love anyone again, which, to reiterate, he _completely_ made up – Oh, he didn't? Well, that's because it, uh, never happened. –You know what, I, uh, have a work call coming in. I'll – call you back sometime, or something. Bye"). The worst part was that she could actually picture it now, in the way she never could in high school – the two of them, Brittany swaying with a shirtless Mike in some dimly lighted room like that scene in _Dirty Dancing_ between Patrick Swayze and pre-nose job Jennifer Grey, his hand lifting her leg against him, her hand curving around his ass, and _god _it made her sick to her stomach.

She sank to the bed, stomach resting on top of the covers, and buried her face in the pillows.

XXXXX

She woke up from a series of fitful dreams a few hours later, feeling distinctly unrested, to the soft sound of knocking on her hotel room door.

"Santana?" Blaine's voice was gentler than usual.

She groaned in response, remembering, and buried her head back in a pillow.

"Are you feeling okay?"

"No, you moron. I feel like _shit_."

"Is the door locked?"

"No."

"Can I come in?"

"Whatever."

She heard the door click open, felt the mattress descend slightly as he sat down next to her. She screwed her eyes shut, allowing him to rub slow circles into her shoulders and the back of her neck for a minute.

"Mike texted me."

"News flash," she said, flipping onto her back to fix him with a cold stare, white coat fanning out behind her bikini-clad body on the bedspread. He was wearing a ridiculous amount of hair gel and a distinctly worried expression. "I'm _not_ actually stuck in the year 2012, contrary to popular belief. No one called Sam when Mercedes took up with that rocker dude in Baltimore, and I bet Mike wasn't the first of us to know that Tina just got pregnant. And I was there when Rachel found out about Finn's engagement, the normal and uncomplicated way – _on Facebook. _Why does everyone think I care so much?"

He didn't reply for a minute, leaning down instead to tug the ends of her white coat closer around her, covering her up. She let him fasten three buttons before pushing his hands off.

"Because you do," he said simply. "Look at my eyes, not my hairline, and tell me you don't care."

"Well, your hairline's distracting me. It's still not too late for a gel-ervention, you know."

"Remember the first time you insulted my hair? I was telling you not to be so defensive."

"Yeah, well, I stopped being 'defensive'" – she put air quotes around the term – "I was too tired."

"Are you tired now?"

"Yeah," she said finally with a bitter laugh, "really tired. More than I thought I'd be."

"C'mere," he said, swinging his legs up to sit against the headboard with his feet stretched out on top of the covers. She relented, the way she only really did for him, and sat up, letting him wrap his arm around her.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm falling back into my early high school days," she admitted.

"In what way?" he asked her, frowning a little.

"No," she laughed again, "I'm not going back in the flannel closet. It's just – I fooled around a _lot _in high school, before coming to terms with what I really wanted. Maybe I'm doing that again," she confessed. "Maybe Aarons has a point. I sleep around with loads of people, women this time, but still not giving a shit about feelings or commitment or anything until suddenly I'm two years shy of _thirty_, and the only girl I was ever in love with is now getting with this guy who would totally win a 'Steadiest Boyfriend Ever' award."

"Hey, if it makes you feel better," he said, tightening his arm around her, "I don't have anything figured out either – you know how many boyfriends, and hook-ups of both genders, I've been through over the years. And I'm pretty sure when I turn twenty-eight, I'll probably still be the most aimless, sexually confused person you'll ever meet."

"It does make me feel better," she said, snuggling a bit closer. "You look like crap, by the way," she added, feeling her mouth twitch a little as she looked up into his face.

"Thanks."

"I'm serious, Anderson. You actually look like someone stole your Roxy Music album and punched you in the face while they were at it."

"That bad?" he mused, digging in his pocket with the arm that wasn't wrapped around her shoulders and pulling out a tiny mirror to examine his reflection.

"You have a _pocket mirror_? Sometimes I can't believe there are _women_ who willingly have sex with you."

"_Well_, now that you mention it –"

She felt her eyebrows raising into her hair at his tone. "_Do_ spill."

He exhaled deeply. "Okay," he said finally, "so last night, Rachel let me try something – different from what we usually do."

"How kinky are we talking here?" she said, grinning in spite of herself.

"Um…this stuff is pretty vanilla, actually. Like – uh, third base-centric."

"_Hold _up," she interjected, tone incredulous. "Are you _seriously_ telling me Berry had never given you a blowjob before last night?"

"Uh, _no_," he said, now flushing a hilarious shade of pink. "She's, uh, definitely done that before. It's the _other _third base I'm talking about here, and before you start calling me a selfish prick, she's the one who wouldn't let me, before."

It was too good to resist. "Horror stories from Kurt? I get that the plumbing's different, but a mouth's a mouth –"

He elbowed her hard in the side. "Not unless Kurt's developed a nasty habit of _blatant_ _lying_, I'll have you know. This isn't a guy specific thing, by the way, more of a general intimacy issue for her."

"I'm not even going to _pretend_ to understand that. All right, so you did the deed, then what?"

"She cried," he said dully. "Cried, and then tried to act like it was nothing."

"My god, were you that bad?"

"It wasn't that," he said flatly.

"Blaine, I'm not trying to be a bitch," she said honestly. "I'm just trying to be straight with you."

"Santana, that would have been the first thing I'd have thought of, if she hadn't also –"

"Seriously got off on it?"

"Yeah."

"What did she blame the weepy fit on?" she asked, slowly.

"Anything, really. Lack of sleep, first. Then tried to pass it off as normal for her, given the physical intensity of it all. But she's never cried before, not with me. And I know it's _not _normal, because she's been acting weird today. Kind of distant with me."

"You know, for the emotional drama queen that she is, Rachel's not the easiest girl to read. But there's very little I can't figure out when I put my mind to it, and your problems are a welcome diversion at this point" – it was true, she could actually feel her mood lightening a bit – "so we'll see what Auntie Tana can come up with."

"Knew I could count on you," he said, voice dry, but he hugged her a little closer. He was silent for a minute.

"Have you – ever cried during sex? Outside of your first time."

"Yeah, once," she admitted. "Senior year of high school, at Brit's place after Glee, the day Finn led you losers in that freaking slowed-up Cyndi Lauper song. But that week was kind of an emotional roller-coaster. You know, that whole coming-out thing."

"I know."

XXXXX

"Okay," Santana announced, flopping back onto her bed – now in an NYU sweatshirt and jeans –"after surveying the movie selection on this TV, I've decided we need to see a horrible chick flick where I can spend the entire time making fun of the characters or the actors. I've pre-selected the following titles – _Friends with Benefits_, _No Strings Attached_, _A Lot Like Love_, _Life As We Know It_, and _I Hate Valentine's Day_."

"Aren't those movies all in some way about characters who start up a sexual relationship and have it get complicated?" Adam observed from his position next to Kurt on the loveseat.

"Well, what movies aren't, these days," said Santana, smiling widely at the horrified, _what-the-hell were-you-thinking_ look Blaine was directing at her. Nothing like a rom-com that might strike a little too close to home to bring out some tell-tale angst in the Blaine-Rachel saga.

"I don't want to see _Life As We Know It_, it somehow reminds me of the old high school baby adoption drama," said Rachel in a flat voice, marking the first time she'd actually said anything longer than a couple of syllables since they'd all come down to Santana's room. She seemed distant and more than a little out of it, and Santana thought she was going out of her way to avoid talking to Blaine, who kept shooting her worried glances out of the corner of his eye.

"_I Hate Valentine's Day _was just a letdown after Nia Vardalos' amazing work in _My Big Fat Greek Wedding_," Kurt chimed in, "and I've heard _A Lot Like Love _is structured a lot like _When Harry Met Sally _but without Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal to carry it through, and that's just unacceptable. _Friends with Benefits _is clever and got really good reviews, though – it's funnier than _No Strings Attached _and I do love me some Justin Timberlake, even if he _should_ have been putting his talent toward making another album."

"Well, I don't want something too clever or genuinely funny, that would defeat the whole purpose of making fun of it, so _No Strings Attached _it is then," said Santana smoothly, snatching the remote from Blaine's vice-like grip and flipping through the selections. "Rachel, hon, room on the bed on Warbler Boy's other side."

"I'm fine here," Rachel said stiffly from the footrest in front of Kurt and Adam, and as the movie started rolling, she saw Kurt reach out to stroke her hair, combing it gently through his fingers. She wondered if he knew what was up with her.

XXXXX

Once Blaine had gotten over her blatant movie selections, he seemed pretty happy to join her in bashing Ashton Kutcher every time he appeared on screen, while Adam defended him good-naturedly ("I met him once in Hollywood, and he's actually pretty cool. You know, I'm a total mainstream liberal Jew, but I've always been kind of fascinated by the mystical school of thought and Ashton Kutcher was a Kabbalah convert – don't make faces at me, babe, I'm not bringing religion into this, although did you know _Madonna_ attends Kabbalah services?"). Rachel, however, had become even tenser than before and had started to make uncharacteristically snide remarks whenever Blaine opened his mouth to offer any sort of opinion on the movie.

"You know," said Blaine thoughtfully around a mouthful of popcorn, "while I like that this movie tries to break the stereotype that the man is usually the commitment-phobe in the heterosexual relationship, it falls into a bit of an anti-feminist groove by posing this total career-relationship dichotomy. Like the reason Natalie Portman is closing herself off to Ashton Kutcher in this scene is because she can't handle a closer bond with him and her intense career at the same time. I mean in reality, most of the women I know who are really successful professionally are actually willing to share their feelings when it comes to the men in their lives, instead of being totally distant about their emotions. _Most of the time_, anyway," he added, a little bitterly, and Santana realized Rachel was _definitely_ succeeding in getting under his skin.

"Yes, well" – Rachel's retort was as instantaneous as it was completely off the point – "at least _Natalie Portman_ isn't using her jumbled sexual identity as an excuse for her superficial string of hook-ups."

It was just enough to ignite the flames.

"Rachel, what the _hell_?" Blaine exploded, spilling the popcorn all over Santana's lap as he jumped up from the bed.

"Last I heard, Natalie Portman was pretty straight," she heard Adam whisper to Kurt, who hushed him.

"_Superficial _– this didn't seem so _superficial _to you last night, so I'm obviously at a loss to understand why you're acting like –"

"Like _what_, exactly?" said Rachel tensely, face white and voice dangerously calm, a complete contrast to Blaine's, staring at the wall in front of her rather than the man pacing back and forth on the floor.

"Cut the denial, Rachel, you've been avoiding me _all fucking day_, and I'm sorry if I did something to hurt you but I can't do anything about it unless you tell me _what I did _that's screwed you up instead of lying to my face that everything was okay, but instead you've just been driving me up the wall with how distant you're being and I know it's been one day, but I seriously can't take any more of this."

"I didn't ask you to do anything," she said in a small, strained voice, "no one asked you to put up with me." Kurt was frozen with his hand over his mouth, and Adam looked extremely awkward.

"Yeah, well I'm _trying _–"

"Okay, guys," Santana cut in, deciding to take matters into her hands so that this mess didn't go on forever, "here's the deal. I'm staging an intervention. Both of you _clearly_ have stuff you need to get off your chests related to whatever exploits you got up to last night after Rachel deserted me on the dance floor and Blaine deserted his drunk make-out partner, and I'm going to go out on a limb here and surmise that you probably don't need current or former duet partners or former boyfriends gaping at you while you work it out. I am going to take these two sickeningly sweet lovebirds with me and lock the door from the outside – yes, I have figured out how to do that – and I'll be back in half an hour. I expect to see that all lingering issues have been completely resolved by that time. No anger sex or make-up sex on my bed unless you're prepared to change the sheets for me. Come on, you two."

XXXXX

"I cannot believe you two are eavesdropping," hissed Adam, covering an ear with one hand and trying to pull Kurt away from the door with the other.

"Adam, honey, you don't get it," Kurt whispered back, patting his arm sympathetically. "The New Directions are _always _in each other's business. It's how we roll."

"Look," Blaine's voice sounded frustrated almost to the point of tears as Santana pressed her ear to the door, "ever since we landed on this island – heck, ever since I got back to New York – I've wanted you more than I've ever done. It's like I'm on fire whenever I so much as _think_ about touching you. I've been honest this whole time about how I don't get it, it's as confusing to me as it probably is to you, but I didn't think you minded. In fact, I thought you felt it too up until last night – you've been initiating sex more than usual, too, and the way you look at me sometimes –"

"Blaine," Rachel's voice was uncharacteristically low, so quiet Santana had to strain to hear it, "_listen _to yourself."

"I _am_ listening to myself spell everything out in _complete honesty_, and I'm trying to _listen to you_. If our sexual relationship is getting to be too much for you, then _tell me_. Don't say everything's okay with one breath and deny it with the other. Rach, I'm fluid but I can't handle mixed signals."

"If our _sexual relationship _is getting – I can't do this, I can't –" Santana changed her mind; Rachel was going to be the one to break down first –

There was a long pause, in which she realized the actress was regaining her composure.

"Fine," Rachel resumed in a stronger voice, "I'll be as clear as I can be." Santana could practically see her biting her lip determinedly as palpably as if she were in the room. "I would prefer if you stayed with Santana for the last two nights of our stay."

He sighed. "Okay."

Santana glanced over her shoulder at Kurt, searching for the _my-ex-boyfriend-is-completely-oblivious _look to make sure she wasn't going completely insane. She wasn't disappointed; she could see it reflected clearly in his wide eyes.

XXXXX

**Next chapter**: Rachel and Kurt have a sleepover (read: Hummelberry cuddling/gossip session); Blaine starts to clue in on what's going on in Rachel's head, and develops a plan.

Reviews/feedback are lovely!


	7. Maybe You Could Show Me How

**Chapter 7: Maybe You Could Show Me How**

"Oh my god" – Blaine looked up at the sound of Santana's voice in the doorway – "have you been moping in the room _all day_? We have only two nights left here, and might I add, you aren't even the one who got a phone call yesterday that triggered massive heartbreak."

"Yeah, well, the two of us deal with angst a bit differently," said Blaine wryly, unplugging an earbud as she tossed her keys and purse into the counter and tossed him a beer.

"Thanks," he said, opening it and taking a swig as she sat down on the couch next to him. "How were the falls and the shopping trip?"

"Hey, is that my iPod?" She snatched it back. "Use your own, Anderson."

"I left mine at Rachel's by mistake when I picked up the rest of my stuff."

"Well," she gave him an annoyingly sharp glance, "why don't you _go over there _and pick it up from her. I think she just got back to her room."

"You know what, maybe I will," he decided, standing up. He'd been avoiding it, but if he was being honest with himself, all he wanted to do was go over there and talk to Rachel and try to make things right.

"Hold up," she said, grabbing his arm. "Look, I know I was the one who suggested it, but maybe we need to have a little lady chat about what might be going on in the girl's head before you just waltz back in there. I've got some ideas."

"'Tana, let's catch up later, okay?" Now that he had decided to go over to Rachel's room, he didn't really want to wait; he just wanted to see her.

"Fine, suit yourself," Santana sighed, confiscating the beer bottle again.

"Thanks," he added again, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead on his way out, which she pretended to wipe off. "Love you. I'll see you back here in a bit."

"I'm not waiting up!" she called as he rushed through the door.

XXXXX

Rachel's door was slightly ajar when he reached the room, and he came face-to-face with her when he made to push it open a little wider. She was holding a tote bag full of what looked like a small range of hair and face creams and wearing a soft blue dress that fell just below her knees and made him ache a little.

"Hi," he said gently.

"Hi," she replied after a little pause, voice quiet but not as tense as it'd been back at Santana's. She still couldn't meet his eyes, though; her eyes were flickering up and down the hallway.

"I – I think I left my iPod here," he said a little awkwardly.

"Yes, you did. I left it on the kitchen counter," she said in the same quiet voice. "I'm going out, but you're welcome to go in and take it…just shut the door behind you, okay?" She made to push past him, but he caught her hand in both of his.

"Rach, please – wait for a sec."

She looked slowly up into his face, biting her lip.

"I just – Rach, I know you think we shouldn't see each other for a bit, and I'm not asking for anything for myself, I promise. But we were sort of inseparable the first few nights and I want you to know I miss that, I miss kissing you and holding you and just having a good time with you, just the two of us. We don't ever have to go back to that if you don't want to, but I don't want this to ruin our friendship too."

"Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to ruin our friendship," she whispered.

"You can't mean that," he said, upset, "c'mon Rach, please take that back."

"I don't think you understand me," she said, pulling her hand out of his grip and pushing past him again.

"I'm trying to understand," he said desperately, following her out of the doorway into the hall.

"Just – give me some time, okay?" she said softly. "_Please._"

"Okay," he said, spying a glimmer of hope in her words, "I'll give you time, I – Rach, I'd do anything to be right with you."

"I don't think you would, and that's what kills me sometimes," she whispered, but before he could stop her and try to make sense of her words, she had disappeared around the corner in the direction of Kurt and Adam's room.

He sighed heavily and made his way into the kitchenette. His iPod was sitting on the dock where hers had been that night, when she'd opened up to him in a way she never had before and he'd apparently made a total mess of things. When he took it off the dock, the screen lit up, and he saw it was cued up part-way through the second song of one of his favorite albums ever, Maroon 5's _Hands All Over_. 'Give A Little More' had been set on repeat, he noticed; she must have done that, since he sometimes put 'Misery' on repeat but had never done that with the second song.

He replaced the iPod on the dock on a whim, and hit play, jumping up on the counter to listen.

_You were wrong for turning me on and on and on_

_And on and on_

_You make it so hard_

_I'm waiting for something, always waiting_

_Feeling nothing, wondering if it'll ever change_

He felt his stomach clench as he realized the chorus was coming up and remembered exactly what Adam Levine was going to sing.

_I'm not falling in love with ya, I'm not falling in love_

_I'm not falling in love with ya, I'm not falling in love_

_'til I get a little more from you baby, oh_

_Get a little more from you baby_

This was what she was afraid of; this is why she was shutting him out.

_And I cannot pretend_

_I never want to feel this way again_

He buried his face in his hands, not sure what to think anymore.

XXXXX

He was still sitting on Rachel's counter, staring blankly at the wall ahead of him, when he heard a soft knock on the half-open outside door. _Shit_, he wasn't ready to face her yet. Not when he didn't even know how he felt about his realization.

"Blaine, are you in there?" It was a male voice, Adam's, to his immense relief.

"Yeah," he said, hopping off the counter and slipping his iPod off the dock again, and making his way out of the kitchenette. "Hey."

"Hey," said Adam, who was standing in the doorway at ease with a bit of a grin, hands in his shorts pockets. "So I just got back from running a couple errands to find that Rachel had cock-blocked me from Kurt and my room. Or sexiled, I'm not sure which. Kurt's terminology was sexiled."

Blaine couldn't help but laugh, mood lightening a tiny bit even at the mention of Rachel.

"Anyway, I think they need a few hours at least to catch up on some best-friend stuff, so I came by your and Santana's, but she said you'd disappeared and last she'd heard, you were in Rachel's room. She looked half-asleep and comfortable in the room, and I'm a bit of a night owl anyway, so I thought I'd check up on you."

"I'm alive," he said with a dry smile, "so you've done your duty. Kurt gets pretty serious when it comes to sleepovers and makeover sessions with his girls, Rachel most of all, so feel free to crash on the couch over in the other room if you get tired. Santana won't mind at all."

"Not tired yet," said Adam with a shrug, sitting down on the edge of the bed and picking up the television remote. He flicked through the channels, landing on a tennis game. "Wimbledon?"

"Yeah, cool," said Blaine, taking a seat on the couch. "Nice serve," he added after a few minutes.

"You play?" Adam asked him after a pause.

"Nah, the only sport I was ever kind of decent at was football," Blaine admitted. "Although I never played for a school team. Believe it or not, Kurt was a one-time kicker for our high school and Rachel played about half a match – they're both long stories – before I transferred there."

He looked sideways at Adam; the guy was smiling at the television, but a little thoughtfully.

"You want to talk about it?" Adam said after a beat.

"Not particularly," he said dully. "Maybe I should, though." He turned back to the screen, staring blankly at it. "Do you think she's actually falling for me, or is that just my extremely delayed, egoistical interpretation?"

"Well, it is the general consensus view," said Adam, with a slight chuckle. "How do you feel about that?"

"I don't know," he said honestly. "I mean, I love her in a completely different way I love Santana. Which makes sense since Santana would probably rather kill herself than sleep with me, and we'd just be too close as friends given our college history to do it anyway even if she wasn't a lesbian, but that's beside the point I guess. Rachel's different from other girls I've slept with. Lately I haven't been able to stop thinking about her, about how I want to be more intimate with her and more often – it's like she's some kind of drug for me, something I just can't do without, and I'm pretty sure a couple of nights ago I gave up the possibility of sex with a really cute guy when I thought about going home to _her_. And it isn't _completely_ about sex – I mean that's _amazing_, but I could kiss and cuddle with her for hours, too."

He paused, taking a deep breath. "But does that mean I'm _in love_ with her, or I could be in love with her? I think a part of me knows I'll always be crazy about her, but I've never committed to a woman, only to men; I don't think I'll ever stop being gay, identifying as gay, it's just who I am. I know a lot of people would label me bi, but the thought of walking down the street holding hands with Rachel or kissing her in public feels weird to me in a way it doesn't with guys. We tried going out the first time I questioned my sexuality, back in high school, and we didn't make it past one date. Or two, I guess, if you count the time she jumped me without warning in the local coffee shop. I don't want to lead her on when I'm so unsure of whether this even has a chance of working."

"I'll be honest with you," said Adam bluntly, "I think Kurt has some of the same misgivings. He's a little afraid that her feelings might be stronger than yours, and she might be crushed if you get just far in enough and then back out. He cares about you a ton, still does, and wants you to be happy, but he has his girl to think about."

"Of course."

"But look," Adam continued, "I have a slightly different view. I'm the only one of all of us who hasn't known Rachel from childhood or adolescence, and without having any pre-conceived views of how she approaches her life, I personally think she's a little more spontaneous than you all give her credit for. When I first met her, she came across as a really serious and no-nonsense sort of actress, and I figured she'd always stick to the script and treat the director's word as God. But she improvises all the time – not in an egregious way, but she'll always want to try something new, a gesture here or an inflection there or a slightly different approach to an emotion or a note. She never lets herself be totally predictable. Says it's because she wants her fans to hang onto her every word," he added with a laugh, "but I think she has a bit of an adventurous spirit, doesn't mind not having every single thing planned out from start to finish."

"Okay," he said slowly, trying to digest Adam's words.

"Look, all I'm saying is that maybe there's no harm in asking her if you can take her out on a date, and try taking things to a more romantic level to see where it goes. I understand what she and Kurt are probably afraid of, but I do think you seem like a genuine guy who won't intentionally make her read into it more than she should. And I'm not trying to dismiss the gay factor, because believe me, I know that's an obstacle. But the fact is, you're obviously not like me and Kurt and Santana – the three of us are on fairly extreme ends of the Kinsey scale relative to a lot of other "straight" and "gay" guys and girls I've met in the New York theater scene or back out in West Hollywood." Adam paused. "And for what it's worth, Blaine, you never really know until you try it out. I was a little hesitant when Rachel first told me about the best friend she was dying to set me up with. I'd mostly been with a certain theater type before, the sort of guys I'd usually lose roles to because they were total chameleons and could just fit right into the mold of whatever character they sought to portray. Kurt's a great performer, don't get me wrong – it's why he got into NYADA in the first place, he can't help but draw attention wherever he goes and succeed at pretty much anything he puts his mind to – but he shines most when he's creating something new, from scratch, and it's why he finished his college years at Parsons and why he's the brilliant designer that he is. He's completely original, nothing like anyone I've ever been with, and I can't imagine being without him."

"Thanks." He looked over at Kurt's boyfriend, casually handsome in his denim sport shirt and well-tailored shorts, and felt a genuine smile cross his lips. "You know that Hiram and Leroy Berry just got in on Finn's 'Adam Aarons Proposal Pool'? Leroy is betting money you'll propose to Kurt here on the island."

Adam laughed, closing his eyes. "I know."

"Well, if you don't want to bankrupt the guy who pays the production company to run full-page ads for his law firm in every one of your Playbills, you'd better get on that," he said encouragingly.

Adam was silent for a minute. "I don't think a day has gone by since I first met Kurt," he said finally, "that I haven't thought about a future together. We haven't even been dating for two whole years and I _know _he's it for me. I'd do it in a heartbeat, I'd have done it already, if I wasn't afraid that he's not ready. He kind of freaks out whenever the conversation starts going in that direction. I know he needs time, and I know that after all the crap he's been through in his life, he's finally in a place where he's really happy and doesn't feel the need to rush things. But there's a part of me that wonders if I'm really it for him, too. He says I am, and I believe it when he tells me, but sometimes a guy can't help but worry a little, you know?"

"I think you're it for him too," Blaine said gently. "Look, this is going to sound really stupid and probably a lot more than you needed to know, but – Kurt and I were each other's firsts, and I was the one who wanted to take the plunge first, before he did. I got ridiculously drunk at this gay bar in Lima and afterwards I was a total jerk and tried to convince him to do it, and he got pissed off at me for coming on to him when he wasn't ready, which was totally justified on his part. This was actually around when we were rehearsing for our West Side Story production," he added, and Adam smiled a little. "But then after opening night, we had this heart-to-heart and I apologized for being an idiot, and he told me how proud of he was of my performance, and we sort of just re-connected and he was the one who said he wanted to go over to my place, and it just happened really organically. Like the feeling was always there, but he just needed to be in the right frame of mind. And when he's in that frame of mind, it's just perfect. It'll be perfect."

"Thanks," said Adam, echoing him. "That really means a lot, Blaine."

He stood up and held out his hand, and Blaine clasped it in his, briefly.

"Think I'm about ready to head over to Santana's and crash on the couch," said Adam. "Are you coming?"

"Eventually," he said. "Might stay here for a bit and think things through, maybe try to talk to her when she gets back. Just text Kurt so she doesn't freak out when she sees I'm still here, okay?"

"Sure thing," said Adam. "I'll make sure he knows you aren't going to try any funny business." He crossed over the doorway. "Oh, by the way –"

"Yeah?"

"You a fan of Daughtry? There's a Daughtry cover band playing at Trees Lounge tomorrow night at 8, all local guys and I hear they're pretty great. Thought we could all try to make it, since our flight back to the city isn't until early afternoon the next day."

"Cool," he said, thinking hard. "I think it's a great idea."

XXXXX

"All set," announced Kurt, wrapping the hairband around Rachel's second braid. "And feel this, aren't the ends so much softer now?"

"Mm-hmm," she said absently, a little spent from his lengthy interrogation during the hair treatment.

"Okay, I'm giving you a five-minute break from talking so you don't start zoning out on me," said Kurt, setting the hair creams on the bedside table and rolling back onto the bed. "Come here, you."

She snuggled into his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. He was the only boy in the world who could hold her and make her feel _completely_ safe. While her unexpected friendship with Kurt had been one of the best things that had happened to her in high school, she'd maintained a pretty realistic mindset about it at the time. They were friends, she reasoned, because they were both driven, and wanted to make it to New York _so badly _in a way that no one else in Glee understood, and respected each other's talents enough to know that they were (usually) better off combining forces than trying to outcompete each other. When they both made it to college in the big city, a part of her suspected that they didn't really need each other much anymore, and that they'd be sharing apartments with other people by the end of freshman year. But then she and Finn broke up, and she barely scraped by during her first year at NYADA and Kurt did well but decided to switch into fashion after a tumultuous internal debate, and Kurt and Blaine made it work for a little while but broke up too, and the two of them were both so stressed and emotional but managed to cling to each other throughout it all and salvage both their careers. Years afterward, he was the only proven constant in her life and she was his, apart from their fathers.

Kurt had put on her Carole King album, and her stomach twisted a little when she remembered this song had been playing in the Lima Bean during her second kiss with Blaine.

_I feel the earth move under my feet_

_I feel the sky tumbling down _

_I feel my heart start to trembling_

_Whenever you're around_

"Oh honey," said Kurt, realizing. "Perhaps Carole King wasn't the best choice for a sleepover soundtrack?"

"Carole is always the best choice," she said dully. "Particularly when a girl needs to wallow in her pain. I want to wallow."

_I just lose control_

_Down to my very soul_

"Okay," said Kurt with a sigh. "But in the spirit of wallowing, we're going to dig deeper into this. Fortunately we got the gory details of your history out of the way during your hair treatment, including more than I ever wanted to know about hetero sex and my ex-boyfriend's prowess at said hetero sex, but we still need to talk feelings here. We know you've always had a soft spot for Blaine. We know you've always found him attractive – yes, even senior year of high school, don't deny it. We know you've been fooling around together on-and-off for the past year, and we know all the sordid details of those encounters. What we don't know, or at least I don't" – he tapped her lightly on the nose – "is exactly _what_'s changed in the way he makes you feel."

"I feel like my heart's going to burst when he looks at me and touches me and when we're being intimate," she confessed. "I didn't feel this way before he came back to the city. I mean, he's _always _turned me on, since we started to – but I felt like I had just as much power as him, I didn't feel so _vulnerable _and jealous and insecure and everything else. I don't know what to do. I can't face him anymore, I can't be around him without having these _stupid _feelings or making them worse."

"And how do you think he feels about you? Have you tried talking to him?"

There were times she thought that maybe he could love her. She thought about how he was in bed with her, how no matter how frantic and desperate and lust-filled their foreplay could get, he was _so gentle _when he was inside her, easing into her as if she might break into a hundred pieces and kissing her mouth and half-closed eyelids until she moaned for him to take things up a notch or five. She thought about how she felt more beautiful when he looked at her, clothed or unclothed, than she'd felt with any man since Finn, and how for all their friends-with-benefits ground rules (of which they'd broken a _lot_ by now) they had _never _promised not to cuddle, because he thought it was stupid that both friends and lovers could do it but they couldn't. She thought about how he tried to be a gentleman but couldn't really resist her, how he liked kissing her stomach and putting lotion on her feet and he hadn't been with _anyone_ else since he came back to New York. But then she remembered that he'd only ever say that he _wanted _her all the time, that he missed _spending time_ with her, that he wanted sex and he wanted friendship but he didn't seem to want anything else.

"I told him that maybe we should ruin our friendship," she whispered, lip trembling a little. "He got upset and told me to take it back."

"I don't think he knew what you meant, sweetie."

"Well, that's just it, isn't it?" she said miserably. "He didn't know what I meant because it's never _occurred_ to him that we could be anything other than friends who have sex or friends who don't have sex. But I don't know if it's really because I'm a _girl _or if it's because I'm _me _or –"

"I'm doing my best to get into Blaine's head," said Kurt slowly, tracing slow, reassuring circles on her back, "and from everything you've told me I wouldn't be surprised if there's a part of him, maybe a big part of him, that's smitten with you. Blaine tends to gets attached to people without realizing it, and some day he just gets it, that you were here all along and he always wanted you, and he'd do anything to make it work. But I can't honestly say I'm not a little worried, because – well, I never really told you this, but I was there with him when you called and asked him out that time in our junior year. When he accepted and told me that maybe he was bi, I said some things I probably shouldn't have, that bisexuality was an excuse for guys like him to crawl back in the closet. I'm not proud of it, and it's not something I'd ever do again – I was a lot less immersed in the entire LGBTQ community back then, and I was obviously biased because I wanted him for myself – but there's a certain perception of a 'gay' guy who starts up a relationship with a girl, and I just want to be sure that his feelings for you are strong enough to face up to it. I don't want you to get hurt. This time, getting a good song out of it is not going to make you feel better, doll; you're too far in, I know the signs."

"I know," she said in a small voice, wondering if she was going to start crying again.

"Hey," he said, immediately swooping in to kiss the tip of her nose, "no more tears, okay? We're going to figure this out, I promise."

"No more tears," she repeated bravely, trying to smile a little for his sake.

"And look," he added, hugging her close, "maybe I'm not giving Blaine enough credit for his fluidity when it comes to relationships. I mean, I've never wanted to get with a girl in that way, so what would I know, really. You haven't either, have you?"

She considered for a moment. She thought if she was being honest, she might have had a bit of a girl crush on post-baby Quinn in high school. But the only time she'd actually kissed another woman, she'd balked well before the possibility of third base. She remembered how beautiful she'd thought Santana looked that night in her black lace lingerie and those tattoos on her hip and lower back, medical white coat draped over her chair in complete contrast to the image.

"Can I try something?" she'd tentatively asked her friend, who had looked surprised.

"Sure, whatever," Santana had said after a beat. She remembered leaning in to press her mouth to the other girl's and the way Santana had drawn her breath in, sharply, deepening the kiss. She had liked the feel of Santana's lips, a little rougher than she'd expected, sliding against hers, and the way her voice came out gorgeous and raspy like her singing when she was turned on, when she asked Rachel if she could unhook her bra. But when the other girl's fingers had slipped down from her breasts to graze the edge of her panties she'd tensed up, freaked out a little, and Santana had re-hooked her bra, sat her down on the couch, and given her a talk about the importance of saying no when you aren't ready that _she _should really have given Santana in high school.

"Not really," she said to Kurt. "I made out with Santana once, but she told me she thinks I –"

"Love cock too much?"

"Um, that's pretty much _exactly_ what she said," she said, blushing as he laughed.

"Well, I've always known that about you. For such a successful, driven, and generally forward-thinking woman you're really extraordinarily conventional in your relationship to men sometimes."

Kurt's phone buzzed on the bedside table. "Nah-uh," he reprimanded her when she reached out to pick it up. "I do not entertain calls or messages when I'm spending quality time with my best girl. It's a rule."

"You should always take messages, they could be important," she insisted, pressing the phone into his hand. "Besides," she added, closing her eyes, "it's also a rule that if you get a text during a sleepover, you have to read it out loud, no matter how embarrassing it is."

"Okay fine, here goes," said Kurt. "Two messages, one from my boyfriend and one from my brother. Adam's says, 'Hey baby, hope you're having fun with Rach. I'm going to crash on Santana's couch for a bit. Hope it's OK that I left Blaine in Rach's room, he'll leave when she gets back but he just wanted a little alone time. Call me later? Love you to the stars and back xx.'"

"Ugh, Santana's right, even your text messages are sickeningly sweet," she groaned, poking him in the ribs.

"The Blaine part's okay?"

"I suppose," she said with a sigh.

"Okay, here's Finn's: 'Hey bro, Skype your dad at 6 PM tomorrow Lima time, you can do that from your iPhone right? Katie and I coming over for dinner and we want to share something with the fam. Say hi to the gang.' See, I _told_ you she's pregnant, that's so obviously what this is about. I really hope it's Finn's."

She thought about how she'd once let Finn get to second base after she'd expressed concern about his newfound love for Jesus, and he'd promised her that their children could totally go to synagogue and wear _yarmulkes_ and eat _challah _bread. She was pretty sure Katie wasn't Jewish. She'd probably fit in much more easily than she would have at Sunday services in between Carole and Finn, with her blonde hair and tiny waist.

"Do you want that?" she said softly. "What Finn has. Marriage. A family."

"I do," he admitted. "Someday. Adam used to talk about it a lot more a couple months ago, but he's dialed it back because he thinks I'm not one hundred percent there yet."

"Are you?"

"I'm not sure. The thought of such a big change scares me, I'm not going to lie. But I've also been resisting formally moving in together because I think we will get married someday, and I want it to be special getting a place together, when we do. I've never been happier in my life than when I'm with him. We just fit together, perfectly. It's a little like it felt with Blaine during the honeymoon phase, only that phase should have passed by now with Adam because I'm much older and _much_ more cynical about relationships, but it just _hasn't_, and I don't think it ever will."

"That sounds pretty close to one hundred percent," she told him, reaching for his phone and setting it back on table, then pulling his hand around her middle so he could cuddle her again. "I hope you'll consider allowing Adam to raise your children in the Jewish faith," she added for good measure; no harm in preparing him now. "I know you don't believe in organized religion, but I'd likely be the kids' biological mother, after all, which would _technically_ make them Jewish by default anyway –"

"And there's reason number fifteen why the prospect of having a baby with you is alarming and scary," he said with an affected shudder, but his arms tightened around her waist.

"Only fifteen reasons," she said with a genuine smile this time, snuggling closer, "that's not too many to dismiss within a couple of years."

XXXXX

She was expecting to find him dozing on her couch when she pushed the door open at six in the morning. Instead, he was pacing the room, phone to his ear and looking as if he hadn't slept a wink.

"That would be great," he was saying in a tired, oddly relieved voice. "Look, this is extremely appreciated on such short notice. Thanks again."

He hung up the phone and turned, meeting her eyes in the doorway with a strangely unreadable expression.

Then he took a deep, obviously nervous breath, and she felt a little sick to her stomach because he obviously understood now, must have talked to Adam about it who'd talked to Kurt who knew her a little too well, must have seen his iPod that she'd left on repeat on that Maroon 5 song in a _stupid_ Freudian slip.

"Sit with me?" he said awkwardly, gesturing to the couch.

She considering turning and bolting, the thought of being let down gently and painfully fairly unbearable at the moment, but imagined Kurt's face if he knew she was running away from the situation without a word. Instead, she crossed the room and sank down on the couch, avoiding his gaze. He sat down next to her, looking as though he might put his arm around her, but seemed to think better of it when she stiffened.

"Adam said you were with Kurt," he said quietly.

"What else did Adam say?" she said after a long silence, staring at her knees as she fiddled with the hem of her dress.

She didn't realize he'd moved closer to her until he spoke, and she could just feel the vibration of his breath beside her cheek. "He said you're more spontaneous than we all give you credit for."

She let out a small, unhappy laugh. "What does that even mean? That I'll do anything – that I _should _do anything – without considering the consequences?"

"No," he said, so earnestly that she turned to look at him without thinking, and _god _he was so close that their noses were almost brushing together and she had to curl her hands into little fists to keep from touching him, "no, I think he just meant that maybe it's okay to keep on taking things one step at a time without quite knowing where you'll end up."

"It's the same thing," she whispered, turning away again, knowing that her eyes were _seconds_ away from flickering between his eyes and his lips of their own accord, and that if she let herself look at him too long she'd be leaning in instead of leaning back because she missed it _too much_, the taste of his mouth and the feel of his jaw every time they'd been alone on that couch, and the way his hand would cup her waist with just the right amount of pressure, and _no_, she wasn't going to let herself kiss him. "Or it works out to the same thing, anyway. Near certainty of heartbreak."

"What if you don't know that?" he said quietly.

"Blaine, _stop_."

"What if _I_ don't know that?"

"You can't just _say_ those things and not mean them." She screwed her eyes shut, head reeling. "Can you please leave?"

"Okay, fine, I'll – I'm leaving, but Rach – can you just promise me one thing?"

She hesitated, biting back the instinctive _yes _on her tongue.

"Just the one thing, I swear." His voice was soft and entreating and made her heart ache.

"What is it?" she asked finally.

"Come to the lounge tonight. There's a concert at eight, we're all planning to go" – he paused, meaningfully – "and you have to come, because I _want_ to show you exactly what I mean when I say the things I say…and you'll see if you come."

She let out a slightly shaky breath, feeling this was going to be a terrible idea, whatever it was. "Okay."

XXXXX

**Next chapter**: The gang attends the Daughtry cover band concert at Trees Lounge on their last night in Kauai; Blaine and Kurt end up finding support in each other when they both decide to take big risks in their personal lives.


	8. A Hand to Hold or Hell to Pay

**Chapter 8: A Hand to Hold or Hell to Pay**

Blaine slipped through the front doors of Trees Lounge a few minutes after eight, just in time to catch the opening beats of 'Life After You.'

_Ten miles from town and I just broke down_

_Spittin' out smoke on the side of the road_

It didn't take long for him to find her and make his way over to her in the little crowd. She was standing closer to the back with Adam and Kurt, wearing a simple black dress and little gold flats, and he could tell she was nervous when he met her gaze by the way she'd started playing with her hair. Adam seemed his usual relaxed self, but Kurt was standing a little apart from his best friend and boyfriend, looking strangely edgy; there was something unmistakably jittery in the way he was rocking back and forth on the heels of his boots as he stared at the band.

_After the life we've been through, yeah_

_Know there's no life after you_

As everyone applauded, he raised his eyes to the front of the crowd, and found Santana's head close to the edge of the little stage.

"Rachel," he said over the sound of applause, and both Adam and Kurt turned around curiously, "I'm going up to the front, where Santana is. Do you want to come with…?"

"I – thank you, but I think I'd like to stay a little farther back," she replied after a beat, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear; it was difficult to read her tone.

"Are you sure? I think the three of you would be able to see better up there," said Adam encouragingly.

"It's okay," said Blaine as she shook her head, biting her lip, "it's okay. I'm heading up, but make sure you stay through the next couple of songs at least – I'll catch you very soon."

He reached Santana's side just as the lead singer started up on the first verse of 'Over You,' and made eye contact with the man. Silently, Blaine raised two fingers in front of his eyes, palm facing inward. After a few beats, the guy nodded, head tilted to the side, and held up one finger as the band launched into the chorus. Blaine understood what he meant: _show starts after this one._

_Well, I never saw it coming_

_I should've started running_

_A long, long time ago_

He looked sideways to see if his usually observant friend had noticed the exchange; apparently she hadn't. She was mouthing along to the words next to him, eyes oddly bright. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, and she threw hers around his waist after a few seconds.

_I'm slowly getting closure_

_I guess it's really over_

_I'm finally getting better_

_And now I'm picking up the pieces_

_I'm spending all of these years_

_Putting my heart back together_

Santana's shoulders were shaking a little, and he tightened his arm around her, turning to glance back at Rachel. She was staring straight ahead at the band, nodding along silently.

_'Cause the day I thought I'd never get through,_

_I got over you_

He could barely hear the sound of applause that filled the room; all he could hear was his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. The lead singer, Marc, was pulling the microphone out of its stand, walking toward the edge of the stage; silently, he held out his hand to Blaine, and Santana slowly disengaged from him, letting the singer haul him up onto the platform.

"So we're going to treat you all to something a little different for 'Feels Like Tonight,'" Marc was saying into the microphone, hand resting firmly on his shoulder. "This fellow is Blaine Anderson, all the way from New York, and when he approached us earlier today to see if he could dedicate the next song to a special someone here in the audience tonight, we found out he's got a great voice. Great enough to lead these guys, even, so I'm going to sit this one out. Blaine, take it away."

Slowly, he took the mike, tucking it back into the stand. "Thanks, Marc." He let his eyes flicker over Santana in the front, who was wearing an expression of surprise and mild approval, and then to the three who were still standing closer to the back. He looked first at Adam, who was nodding at him; trained his eyes next over Kurt, who was surveying him with an inscrutable countenance; and finally made eye contact with Rachel. She was staring at him, right hand resting over her mouth with her fingers curled in a little fist.

"This is for you, Rachel," he said simply as the guys behind him started up their electric guitars.

_You, you got me_

_Thinking it'll be all right_

_You, you told me,_

'_Come and take a look inside'_

_You believed me,_

_In every single lie_

_But I, I failed you this time_

She was standing frozen in place, wide eyes filled with all the emotions she could never contain, never shut out when it came to song.

_And it feels like tonight_

_I can't believe I'm broken inside_

He kept his gaze on her as he leant into the mike, voice soaring passionately.

_Can't you see that there's nothing that I wanna do,_

_But try to make it up to you?_

_And it feels like tonight,_

_Tonight_

He closed his eyes, thinking about the taste of her on his tongue and the feel of her body under his, soft and warm against stiff hotel room sheets. He thought about the way her hands ran up and down his chest and bunched in his shirt when she kissed him, about that laugh of hers and the sofa in her New York environment where she sat in his lap for hours once after ditching a cast party, breath tickling his ear.

_I never felt like this before_

_Just when I leave, I'm back for more_

_Nothing else here seems to matter_

_In these ever-changing days,_

_You're the one thing that remains_

_I could stay like this forever_

He opened his eyes – looking back at her, pleading with her.

_'Cause there's nothing that I wanna do,_

_But try to make it up to you_

_And it feels like tonight_

The next several moments – descending the stage to loud cheers and applause, Santana's encouraging hand resting briefly on his elbow as he passed her, Adam and Kurt slipping surreptitiously away out of his field of vision as he approached – seemed to pass by in a blur of sound and pressure and color, until he was standing directly in front of her. She was standing in place with her hands balled into fists at her sides, face white and eyes extremely bright.

He reached out slowly, drawing her body to his so he could whisper in her ear. "Can we talk – side room, it'll be easier to hear…"

She was shaking so much in his arms that he felt his heart ache more than ever, but she nodded once against his shoulder, and let him lead her into the side room with her hand tucked into his.

He shut the door behind them just after the band started up on 'What About Now,' with Marc on lead vocals again. "Sit with me, please?" he said softly, sinking down on a chair in the small room and tugging her very gently onto his lap when she didn't let go of his hand.

"Why?" she whispered, eyes half-closed and forehead resting lightly against his, and he reached up with the hand that wasn't holding hers to tuck a strand of brown hair behind her ear.

"I've been a little oblivious of late," he whispered back, "and more than a little blind, and perhaps I still am. I still don't know what _we _are or what we could be. But I'd like to think I understand your feelings by now – and maybe I haven't completely figured out how to label mine, but I know what I feel when we're together and it's crazy and powerful and unlike anything I've ever really felt before. And I would be unfair to you, unfair to _us_, by letting the social constructs I've allowed to define me for twenty-seven years prevent me from giving this a real chance."

"I know you don't want to just fool around anymore," he continued, emotionally, "and I don't either. It's not right to throw away the possibility of something deeper, not when there's even a fraction of a chance that we could be so much more to each other. I want to take you out on a date when we get back to New York – a real one. I won't be able to afford more than the occasional Sardi's outing on my salary, but you said you don't feel the need to go there as much in person now that they've promised you a sketch to grace the wall, and I know a handful of little speakeasies you've never been to in the Village that are much more private and have this cozy romantic vibe I think you'd _love_. There's one right by the apartment I'm moving into, so we could go back to my place after and watch _Love Story_, just as we did on our first 'date' – but this time around, I promise to hold your hand during the entire movie and kiss away your tears at the end. Is that okay? _Please _say yes."

He waited, heart racing in his chest; she was silent for a full, long minute. Then she sat back, raising her eyes to his – wide and vulnerable and _so beautiful_.

"It would be _unfair_ to me," she echoed his soliloquy in a quiet, uncharacteristically slow voice. "It's _not right _to throw away possibilities when there might be a fraction of a chance we could work. So we'll humor each other – you'll humor me? Is that all this is to you?"

"No," he said in a rush, horrified, "I'm not _humoring _– Rachel, baby, I told you I want this too, you heard me, didn't you?"

" 'I failed you this time,' " she continued, ignoring him, voice rising steadily as she quoted the song. " 'There's nothing that I wanna do / but try to make it up to you.' _Make it up to me. _Blaine, I want to believe that you want this as much as I do, anything _close_ to as much as I do, but I _can't_, I just can't believe that you're doing this for any other reason that you feel you _owe _me something."

"You can't or you won't?" he said in frustration, voice rising too. "_Why _won't you trust that I'm crazy about you, Rach? I can't promise you that this is going to be anything close to perfect or that I'm not going to screw up because apparently I screw up _all the time_, but –"

"It's myself I don't trust," she said, shaking her head, and he counted three tears escaping down her cheek before she wrested herself out of his arms and turned toward the door. "I've only truly been in love _once_ in my life before now and I can't begin to understand when it happened but I'm falling in love with you, Blaine. And while your voice and your foolish bravery frankly take my breath away, there's nothing you've done or said today that's convinced me I'll be able to continue on this path and not allow myself to get extremely, _irrevocably_ heart-broken in the end."

She pulled the heavy door open, gold flats skidding over the floor of the main room as she fought her way past a startled-looking Kurt and Adam to the exit. He leapt to his feet and followed, stunned.

"_Rachel_!" he called after her, desperately, but his words were drowned in the swelling sound of the band.

_What if you're making me all that I was meant to be?_

_What if our love never went away?_

_What if it's lost behind words we could never find?_

The main doors swung closed behind her retreating form, and he collapsed into the nearest chair with his face in his hands.

_Baby, before it's too late,_

_Baby, before it's too late,_

_Baby, before it's too late,_

_What about now?_

XXXXX

He was shaking, literally shaking with self-hatred. How had he made her cry _again_, how had he managed to screw this up yet another time?

Somewhere in front of him, the band started up a slower, sweeter rock ballad.

_I'm staring out into the night,_

_Trying to hide the pain_

He took three long, shuddering breaths, and to his great horror, felt hot tears start up in his eyes.

"Blaine? Blaine, shh, it'll be okay, it's going to be okay…"

A familiar pair of arms had encircled him. Kurt was kneeling next to his chair, holding him, rubbing comforting patterns into his back and shoulders.

"Why can't I get anything right?" he blurted out, wiping his tears away angrily as Kurt continued to rub his back, making soothing noises. "I lost you, I lost Rachel, at this rate I'm going to drive _everyone_ in my life away because I _can't fucking keep it together_ –"

"Blaine, you are _much_ more often right than you are wrong," said Kurt softly, still hugging him close. "It's just the complications of being the person you are and living out the situations you get yourself in, dear. And unless I'm mistaken, you haven't lost Rachel."

"Did you _not _see the exact same thing I just saw now?" he said, a little more hysterically than he'd intended. "Because I'm pretty sure –"

"Shh, _calm down_ honey, I'll tell you what I mean, but you have to come dance with me for this song, okay?"

He laughed bitterly. "Kurt, I don't think a pity dance is going to solve –"

"This isn't a pity dance, silly, it's just for old times' sake, now come on," said Kurt, trying to tug him to his feet.

"Won't Adam –"

"Adam went after Rachel to make sure she got back to the hotel safely, and anyway I'm pretty confident that one dance with a guy he genuinely likes is not going to be a problem. Come on, up you get."

He sighed. "Okay."

They fell into their old slow-dance positions by default – his arms around Kurt's waist, Kurt's arms looped around his shoulders, even though it never really made complete sense (as Puck had unhelpfully pointed out at Kurt's senior prom, "because even though Kurt's more like the girl, he's also kind of taller than you, bro, and girls are usually shorter than dudes, so it's awkward when they lead"). Kurt tightened his arms around him, comfortingly, and he let himself close his eyes.

_The miles are getting longer, it seems,_

_The closer I get to you_

_I've not always been the best man or friend for you_

_But your love remains true_

_And I don't know why_

_You always seem to give me another try_

He didn't think she was going to give him another try.

"I know you think I don't understand what you're going through," said Kurt, suddenly. "And I don't understand a lot of it. But if there's one thing I can appreciate, it's the way Rachel Berry can get under your skin."

"Surely you aren't talking from experience. She's your best friend," he said, not comprehending.

"Yes, but she's more than that," admitted Kurt. "Don't get me wrong, it's nothing like what you're probably thinking, but it's not totally conventional either. So you know how Rachel and Adam are both the types to go all out on stage, when they're in their characters, and the director totally encourages it – I'm talking an _extremely_ sexually-awakened Maria and Tony –"

Blaine couldn't help but grin a little, in spite of himself. He definitely remembered a scene or two in Rachel and Adam's production with a risqué factor that went well beyond the show's tame original.

"–and sometimes if Adam is rushing over to my place to spend the night after an evening show, he'll just do a quick change of clothes and makeup removal without showering, and I can faintly smell Rachel's perfume on him when we're together – I'd recognize it anywhere since she only wears the brand I recommended for her a few years ago. I make fun of him for it all the time, tease him about having an affair with his co-star behind my back, but even though it's twisted I actually _love_ being intimate with him when I can smell her on his skin. He totally clued into it after a few weeks of this happening, because they pranked me with Rachel spritzing half a bottle on him before a date."

Kurt always knew how to make him feel less screwed up. "Hey, if I'd known you were into that, Artie would have been a _lot _more satisfied with the level of passion in our West Side Story rehearsals," he said, starting to laugh as Kurt poked him in the side.

"She's not going to shut you out forever, Blaine," said Kurt more seriously, after a pause. "She's just afraid. Deep down, she's the kind of girl who just wants true love and a happy ending, and she's afraid you can't give her that."

"Well, she's probably right to be afraid of that," he said dully. "How am I supposed to promise her any of those things when I'm not even sure if what I feel for her is _love_, in the right sense of the word?"

"Well," said Kurt slowly, "let's start simple. How did you feel just now, when she walked out that door?"

"I felt" – he hesitated, searching for the right words – "felt that the best part of me was walking right out that door and that I'd screwed it all up and I hated myself for it, hated everything that was left. I felt how much I'd wanted her to say yes, even though I'd practically done it on a whim – I felt _crushed_ even though I wasn't even fifty percent confident it would work when I devised this stupid plan on no sleep at all. I felt that I couldn't believe how beautiful she looked when she cried, but that I'd give anything to be the guy that held her and kissed her and made her smile again."

Kurt was silent for a few, long moments. Then he let out a deep breath, and Blaine looked up to see a soft smile crossing his lips. "Well, if I had to describe that little soliloquy in a word, I don't know what other one I'd use."

He felt a sudden rush of emotion, felt the tears starting in his eyes again. "You're kind of perfect, you know that?"

"Yes, well, you used to tell me so in song," Kurt smiled. "With a little help from Ms. Alecia Beth Moore."

"Well, you are perfect," he said honestly, "and Kurt, I'm _so _glad the guy you're in love with _knows_ that you are, genuinely knows it, because I wouldn't be able to stand it if he didn't."

Kurt looked at him seriously, eyes suddenly wide and expressive and vulnerable.

"Can I tell you a secret, Blaine?"

"Anything," he assured him, giving Kurt's waist an affectionate squeeze.

"It's about Adam. I'm strongly considering – as of a couple of hours ago – a bit of a grand gesture."

"I like the sound of that. Do continue."

XXXXX

Kurt slid slowly down the wall to sit on the floor outside his hotel room. He could hear the soft sound of Adam singing a rendition of 'America' with gorgeous tonal quality and an endearingly awful Puerto Rican accent through the closed door.

Frantically, he pulled out his phone and drafted a quick text message.

_To: Blaine_

_I don't think I can do this._

His hand hovered, shaking, over the send button, but he couldn't bring himself to hit it. One minute. Two minutes.

Just when he thought he was going to go crazy from indecision, a notification popped up. He seized desperately on the incoming text message.

_From: Blaine_

_10:32pm_

_COURAGE!_

He laughed out loud. Of _course_.

Blaine was right, always had been. He could do this.

He stood up, bravely, and pushed open the door.

"Kurt, is that you?"

"It's me," he said quietly.

"Hey, you," Adam said, emerging shirtless in the doorway to pull him in and shut the door, pressing him lightly against it in the way they always played around when one of them came in after the other, and leaning in to kiss him on the mouth. Kurt smiled against his boyfriend's lips, losing himself for a minute in the deliciously taut lines of Adam's chest and stomach under his fingers.

"Mm, you're distracting me," he said softly, as Adam started working the top buttons of his shirt in between kisses.

"I'm sorry, baby," said Adam gently, pulling back. "Did you want to talk about something? Are you tired?"

"Yes, I did," he said, reaching up to touch his boyfriend's face, silently assuring him that everything was okay, "and no, I'm not tired, not for _you_, but I want to talk before. Can we cuddle on the couch for a little bit? Preferably with your top still off, because you are _quite _the sight for sore eyes," he added more lightly, giving Adam a little kiss on the jaw.

"Of course."

"Is Rachel okay?" he asked when they were curled up together on the loveseat. He had to wait for the right moment to talk about them; their friends should come first.

"She's not great," said Adam gently, "but she will be. She had at least stopped crying by the time Santana came by to pick her up."

"Okay," he said, feeling his face fall a little at the thought of a miserable Rachel.

Adam kissed his shoulder comfortingly. "How's Blaine?"

"Heartbroken," he answered softly. "I know it sounds strange, but I think this might be the real deal for him."

"I wish they'd stop dancing around each other," said Adam with a sigh. "It always has to be so complicated, doesn't it?"

"Mm," he said absently. "Except sometimes it isn't, and it's simple and easier than you ever thought it would be and nothing short of _perfect_."

"Like you and I," said Adam simply, and just like that, those old lyrics were running through Kurt's head: _Something, something about this place_._ Something, something about just knowing when it's right_.

"Yes," he said with a deep, shaky, _relieved _breath because it just made sense, everything about this moment, everything about _them_, "you and I, yes" – and he leaned in to kiss his boyfriend slowly, deeply, trying to convey every emotion that he needed to express tonight in the gesture.

"I know you're thinking of that Lady Gaga song," Adam murmured, "and you know what I love about that song? The way she sings about all these little things bringing her back to her guy, reminding her of him, like whiskey and rock 'n roll and muscle cars and the hum of a guitar. There are so many things that make me think of you no matter where I am, that'll always pull on my heartstrings – like plaid suits and suspenders," he added with an affectionate smile, making Kurt laugh softly and rest his forehead against his, "because you won't wear them outside the house since they're two seasons ago, but you'll wear them inside just for me since I think you look sexy in them – and chocolate-covered strawberries because they're the only snack you can't resist even a little bit, and benches in the Park because we kissed and held hands for the first time in public on one, and young starlets because you always compare them unfavorably with Rachel when they're out of earshot no matter how nice they are, and the line in that Matt Nathanson song that talks about everything working in someone's arms because everything _does_, in yours."

"I love you so much," said Kurt softly, "_so _much, and you're _everything_ to me" – he reached out for Adam's hands, holding them tightly in his and blinking back his tears – "Adam, I've been thinking about it all day, about _us_, and the thought came to me that – no wait, this is coming out all wrong, I – baby, I need to tell you something, need to _ask_ you something, but I'm terrible at this and I'm not saying it right and I just need a minute –"

"Shh," said Adam, squeezing his hands as he started to panic again, "you can tell me or ask me _anything_, at your own pace, and I promise I'll still be right here holding you, okay?"

"Okay," he whispered, taking courage, "good, because I want you to be."

He was silent for a minute, collecting his thoughts.

"Okay," he resumed, "so you know how I Skyped my parents and Finn and Katie from my phone when you went for a run with Rachel today?"

"Mm-hmm. Was it about what you thought it would be?"

"Yes," he laughed, "yes, I'm going to be an uncle, and everyone was so excited, and it was nice. But I couldn't help feeling a little weird now that it's confirmed and definite because it's _Finn_, you know? I always thought he'd be the last of our Glee class to really grow up – Noah Puckerman aside – and I'm so happy for him, but it was a little odd. I think Dad noticed something in my expression because he called me after Finn and Katie left, asked if I wanted to chat or if anything was up. And I asked him if Finn was growing up faster than he and Carole had expected, too, with the wedding and baby and all."

"What did he say?" Adam asked, gently.

"He laughed and said, 'Kid, we're not really a family that's known for taking things slow.' He reminded me of how quickly he and Carole had gotten engaged – how other than an ill-advised hook-up with a closeted lesbian, Finn only ever had really serious girlfriends, three of them, and two of them were in high school – how I'd rushed off to New York at the first opportunity and I've been one of the youngest guys in my field since I broke into the fashion industry. He said it's – it's because we have a history of loss in our family, losing my mom and Finn's dad. If there's anything we've learned it's that when we find something that makes us feel more complete, more _whole _again – 'and you know how long it took me to find Carole, you know what my life was like after your mother,' he said – we _cling_ to it, we cling to the possibility of a future with it."

He was starting to cry a little, but not too much, and he was grateful that Adam just held his hands more tightly and didn't try to interrupt. It was important that he keep going.

"And after talking to Dad, I couldn't help thinking about my friends, the ones I've been closest to since high school – the New York gang, the ones here with us now – and they're all _so _successful and wonderful on their own, but they're all still searching for something. When I think about them that way, all I see is Santana's fear that she might have lost her one shot at something real when she broke up with Brittany, and Blaine's struggle to come to terms with the fact that his current motivations and desires don't look or feel much like the ones he thought he had for the past twenty-seven years, and most of all Rachel's _tragic_ need to defend against having a boy break her heart by breaking it herself first. It's all the same in some way – they're all searching for _some_ sort of proof that maybe there's someone they want to move forward with and have a future with.

"And here I am, happier than I ever thought I'd be, with _you_," he added softly, looking meaningfully into his boyfriend's eyes, "and I don't mean to patronize my friends for the world, but the truth is I'm not worried about my future anymore, only about theirs. Sometimes I'm flat-out scared that Rachel's more vulnerable and broken than anyone other than me can understand, and my heart bled for Blaine too when she left, he was _so crushed_, Adam. But when I really let myself think about my own personal life – in a way I tend to avoid because it's going _so well_ and I figure _why change it_ – it doesn't take a whole lot of soul-searching to realize I want a lot of new things, too. I've always wanted a lot of new things, honey.

"And my dad's right," he said finally, tightening his grip on Adam's hands, "that the thought of moving forward isn't scary, shouldn't be scary – because it's the missed opportunities and the moments we might never have that we'll regret most in the end. Adam, I _want_ us to get married – if you'll marry me – and not just someday, I don't need to wait anymore…not when I know how much we mean to each other and not when I'm _not afraid_ anymore."

"I know it's sudden," he started rambling as his boyfriend stared at him with an expression that could only be described as shell-shocked, "and I didn't have time to order any rings, and I've always said that I wouldn't want to have an engagement longer than six months, which means we can't have a summer wedding and that seriously limits the number of possible themes – maybe a destination wedding though? – and oh my god, you haven't said yes, which probably means talking about wedding themes is a pointless exercise and this was the most ridiculous idea ever so can we please just go back to what we were doing before and forget this ever – "

But then Adam was all but crushing him in his arms, crying harder than _he_ was for the first and probably the last time in their lives together, but laughing at the same time, kissing him so hard it hurt, and he _knew_ before Adam had the chance to catch his breath to reply that this moment was going straight to the top of the growing list of things in Kurt Hummel's life that had gone _so, so right._

"Yes. Yes, _god _yes."

XXXXX

**Look who's going to be married by thirty – legally! I love writing Kurt in this fic. There's something that touches me about the idea of a future Kurt whose feeling of **_**genuine**_** self-worth and his emotional fortunes, so to speak, have changed so dramatically for the better that he almost needs as much time to adjust to happiness and stability as he needed to adjust to the reverse. **

**Next chapter**: Back in New York, Santana receives a surprise visitor who just may help her get the closure she needs; after a little soul-searching of her own, Rachel finds herself jamming with a couple of familiar ex-Warblers at Blaine's apartment. The upcoming chapter is technically the penultimate installment (with the final, tenth one structured more like an epilogue), and may or may not include a make-out session on a fire escape. :-)


	9. Walk with Me Like Lovers Do

**Chapter 9: Walk with Me Like Lovers Do**

"Rachel. _Slow down. _You have _got_ to stop speed-eating."

Santana directed an accusatory glance across the table at her friend, who had the grace to look slightly abashed. Rachel had polished off her fruit at an impossibly rapid pace and was now attacking the hash browns on her plate with unnatural vigor.

"Look," she said in a slightly gentler tone, reaching out to tug on a lock of brown hair, "I get that a meal with the boys – particularly one boy – isn't exactly something you feel like dealing with at the moment, but we've also got a long flight back to New York. You're going to have to face the music at some point. Besides, he's not going to start pressing his case with you after you've made your concerns pretty clear – I'd be surprised if it comes up at all. Just sit back and relax, okay?"

"Okay," Rachel mumbled, and Santana couldn't help patting her cheek affectionately. The poor girl had been a complete emotional mess last night.

"Hi girls," came Kurt's bright voice from somewhere behind them, and she turned to see him practically skipping toward the table, swinging his and Adam's intertwined hands in between them. "Sorry we're late – we've just been unusually distracted this morning –"

"– totally distracted," Adam repeated, beaming a little too widely for this early in the morning. "Spread looks amazing, doesn't it? We should hurry up before those hash browns run out –"

"– oh look, it's Blaine!" Kurt said in an oddly excited voice as the final member of their party emerged, looking as rumple-haired and disheartened as Santana had anticipated. "Adam, honey, you just sit down here, I'll grab your hash browns for you – come on Blaine, brunch line over this way –"

She attempted to exchange a bemused look with Rachel, but the girl had buried herself in her plate again at the sight of Blaine, whom Kurt was now dragging by the arm to the breakfast buffet. "What is your boy _on_ this morning?" she asked Adam instead, raising an eyebrow at him, "and _what_ is with the twin shit-eating grins?"

"Oh, it's nothing," said Adam airily, drumming his fingers lightly against the table across from them, "or, well, it's _something_, but we'll just wait until we're all sitting together at the table before –"

There was a loud yelp from the direction of the brunch line, and they all looked up to see Blaine pouncing on Kurt in what appeared to be a bone-crushing hug.

"– or not," Adam laughed, shaking his head affectionately.

"Well, whatever news you two are packing, it's got to be good if Kurt managed to cheer up _Blaine_ with it," said Santana, leaning across the table to watch the two men as they approached, each balancing a heavily-laden plate in one hand; Blaine still had his arm around Kurt and was actually _smiling_.

"I knew it," said Blaine when they reached the table, reaching out to punch Adam lightly in the shoulder. "Congratulations, man."

"Congratulations?" Rachel spoke up softly, looking up at Blaine for a few seconds as he slipped into the seat on Santana's other side; his eyes went to her immediately, lingering even as she shifted her gaze to Kurt, who had sat down next to his boyfriend. "Kurt –"

"We have an announcement to make," said Kurt, eyes sparkling, and Santana saw Adam reach out and take his hand again.

"We're engaged," said Adam proudly.

"Holy crap, that's fantastic," she exclaimed, feeling a grin spread across her face in spite of herself – why did these two have to be so damn _cute_? – as Rachel gasped and squealed next to her. "I mean, we all knew this was coming eventually, but it's great to hear. But hey, I don't see any bling…"

"Well, it was a little spontaneous," said Kurt with a slight wink at Blaine, "so there wasn't really time. But I've been poring over the men's section of the Tiffany's online store all morning and I've narrowed the ring selections down quite a bit – maybe a slight custom modification here and there – you liked the last two I showed you, didn't you, love?"

"I liked all of them, Kurt," laughed Adam, squeezing his hand, "you choose whatever design you like best, modify it however you want, and then surprise me."

"Rachel, you'll come with me to Tiffany's to pick it up, won't you? Just like old times," said Kurt softly, reaching out with his other hand to touch his best friend's cheek across the table. "Oh _Rachel_, don't cry, darling."

"Of _course_ I'll accompany you, and I can't help it, I'm just so happy for you," said Rachel, who was smiling through her tears. "My best friend in the _world_ is engaged to one of the few men I'd trust to give him a lifetime of happiness. Oh, you'll let me give a speech at your wedding, won't you? I promise not to embarrass you horribly, but I _must _take credit for the union; if I hadn't had the superior _foresight_ to arrange that first date, your relationship might have been limited to a few chance encounters at cast parties, and who knows if that would have been enough to ignite the flames? – Oh, and this _has_ to be a Glee wedding just like your father's, we'll cover all of the music and you can focus your budget on getting the best venue possible – I'd take solo stage on your first dance song, but I'm afraid I'd cry too much – but Santana, I've got the perfect duet in mind for you to sing with Mercedes – and Kurt, I _insist_ that you make more vegan and kosher food available, I know you weren't in charge of catering but the range of options at Finn's wedding was frankly appalling…"

Adam nudged Santana under the table and nodded almost imperceptibly toward Blaine, who was gazing at Rachel with a look of undisguised adoration.

"Well," she cut in on a whim, "Kurt, Adam, you two certainly had a better night than _I _had after tucking this girl in last night."

"What'd you do?" asked Kurt warily, as Rachel reached for her drink, brow furrowing slightly.

"Hetero pity sex," she deadpanned. Blaine rolled his eyes good-naturedly at her, but Rachel choked on her tea at once. She set the mug down quickly on the table, spluttering a little as she recovered, and promptly knocked her fork to the ground with a loud clatter.

"God, I'm joking, Rachel," said Santana, laughing but secretly feeling a little guilty; the poor girl was too easy to ruffle. Kurt narrowed his eyes at her warningly, but Adam was smiling a little at Blaine, who now looked a bit flustered at Rachel's reaction.

"I supposed you were," said Rachel after a long pause, blushing unconvincingly and avoiding everyone's eyes. "Well I – I must make sure to give my dads a call after breakfast. I'm sure Daddy will be thrilled to learn he's won the bet on the engagement timing."

"Papa," Blaine spoke up suddenly, and everyone turned to look at him. He was surveying Rachel with an earnest look on his face. "I mean – it's your papa that won the bet, Rachel. Both Leroy and Hiram thought Kurt and Adam would get engaged in Kauai, but it was Hiram who said –"

"– oh _Kurt_, you proposed?" said Rachel, eyes shining.

"He did," Adam said softly, arm tightening around Kurt's waist. "He was amazing."

"I was scared," Kurt admitted, looking up into Adam's face, "_really _scared, I'd never imagined in my life that I'd have the courage to be the one proposing. I almost chickened out soon after the idea came to me, but Blaine convinced me to go through with it. And I'm _so _glad I did."

"Well, you know what they say," said Blaine gently, " 'love makes you do the wacky.' And in this case, it's definitely a good sort of wacky."

"Oh my god, you _would_ quote Buffy the Vampire Slayer," Santana gasped.

"_You_ would _recognize _a Buffy quote," he countered, and when Rachel laughed softly, glancing expressively down the table at Blaine, Santana had to feel an indistinct twinge of hope. Perhaps these two wouldn't screw things up after all.

And if _they_ didn't mess this up, perhaps there was hope for her, too.

XXXXX

"Lopez, you just had a visitor," the burly doorman announced without ceremony as she slipped inside her Chelsea apartment building later that week, yawning and fishing inside her white coat for her keys.

"Thanks, Ray, what was the name?" A lot of people expected their doormen to small-talk themselves into oblivion, but she always appreciated directness when she was practically dead on her feet from a long workday.

"Something that sounded a heck of a lot like Britney Spears," Ray chortled, rummaging around the desk for a piece of paper, and she felt her heart drop right down into her stomach. "Where did I put that thing – oh yeah, here it is – Brittany S. –"

"Brittany S. Pierce," she echoed dumbly. "How – h_ere_? When did –"

"She stopped by at nine, I told her your shift would probably be done by eleven – she said she'd head down to Meatpacking to check out the early night scene and then swing by again" – it _had_ to be her, only Brit would wander so happily down to the Meatpacking district on her own to dance a couple of hours away – "think her phone was dead or she probably would have called you, but she could be back any minute now."

"Look, Ray" – she moved closer to the desk, leaning in to continue in a panicked stage whisper – "she's an ex of mine and to be totally honest with you, I'm not really over her and I'm going to be a total nervous wreck over this since I wasn't prepared for this at _all_ – so if you could just do the honorable thing and tell her I'm not here, I will give you the _best_ Christmas tip of your life – seriously I'll match _anything_ you get from any other resident here –"

"Think it's a bit late for that, Lopez," Ray whispered back sympathetically, "much as I was looking forward to that year-end cash. Girl's at the entrance right behind you."

She spun around, head reeling. He was right; Brittany Pierce was standing in the doorway of her apartment building in a cropped white top with a large red pair of lips splashed across it and low-rise black flared slacks that clung to her hips and made Santana ache – blond hair in long, soft waves, and mouth curved upward in a quietly peaceful smile.

XXXXX

As it turned out, Brittany and Mike had been given a rare opportunity to attend an advanced master class at the famed Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater on 55th and Ninth. Mike had pulled out at the last minute due to an unexpected family obligation, but had encouraged her to go, and it sounded as if she'd had a wonderful time.

"The company member who led the class actually has really close family in Cincinnati, so she's there a _lot_," Brittany was saying happily, as Santana hastily slipped out of her mauve scrubs behind the half-closed door between her bedroom and the kitchen, fumbling with the straps of a tank top she'd extracted from a stuffed drawer, "and she loved the whole idea behind our studio so much when I told her about it, that I _think_ she might even be willing to drive over to Dayton sometimes when she's in Ohio to do a master class for a cheap price, isn't that fantastic?"

She re-emerged from behind the door, smoothing the slightly wrinkled tank down over her yoga pants. "Yeah, it is."

"You look great, Santana," said Brittany more softly, tilting her head to gaze at her. "I couldn't really see you under your doctor's clothes."

"I like the coat," she shrugged, crossing over to the refrigerator to avoid her ex-girlfriend's strangely keen glance. "Something to drink?"

"Water is good."

She reached for the pitcher of water on the side of the fridge, but hesitated; Brit used to say that chilled drinks made her teeth feel too cold. Closing the fridge abruptly, she moved over to the tap, opening it with jerky fingers and running her hands under the water to test the temperature.

"Is that for Blaine?" asked Brittany as she approached with the cup of lukewarm water, pointing to a set of old-fashioned bar glasses sitting on the kitchen table.

"Yeah, how'd you know?" she said, surprised. Blaine had a thing for modern furniture and archaic drink ware, so it was the perfect housewarming gift, but she wouldn't have expected Brittany to pick up on it.

"Mike said he'd just moved into a new apartment, so I visited him," said Brittany simply, slipping gracefully into a seat at the table and taking the glass of water from Santana's slightly shaking hands. "Blaine said he'd been drinking scotch out of the bottle, so I figured he didn't have any glasses. It was nice though. I was only there for an hour, but we talked a lot."

"About what?" she said absently, still standing, tracing a pattern on the floor tile with her toe.

"Different things. You. Mike, and Rachel. How I thought I was bicurious in high school and now I think I'm bisexual. How he was gay in high school and now he isn't sure if he's bisexual but is definitely fluid. He seemed a little depressed, but I think I made him feel better."

"You always make people feel better, Brit," she said quietly, because it was true. "Did you see Rachel?"

"No. I actually tried to visit her first, since it turns out she lives _really_ close to Alvin Ailey, but the security guard said she was out when I got there. Maybe she was out with Kurt. Kurt wasn't with his boyfriend, at least, because his boyfriend was just leaving Blaine's when I got in. I thought it was weird at first that Kurt's boyfriend was friends with his ex-boyfriend, but then when Blaine said you guys all went on vacation together it didn't seem so strange."

"Fiancé," she corrected, automatically. "Kurt's fiancé."

"Kurt's engaged?" said Brittany, setting down her glass with a delighted look, and Santana couldn't help thinking about what Brittany's face might look like if Mike ever proposed to her.

"I don't think it's public yet, so don't put it on Facebook or anything, but yeah. They got engaged while we were in Hawaii."

"Kurt thinks engagements that last more than half a year are stupid," Brittany said wisely, displaying her characteristic tendency to remember the most inane details about her friends, "which means we'll all get to reunite soon for the wedding. It'll be like reliving the past, but with a twist. It'll be wonderful."

"Yeah. Wonderful," she said blandly.

"You aren't excited about it," Brittany observed, in a softer voice. "Don't you want all of us to be together again? You said it killed you to go to New York and leave so many people behind, even though you had to do it because NYU was the best school you got into and you had to do what was right for your future. I thought you missed us."

"I missed _you_, it killed me to leave _you_," she cut in, with a bitter tinge to her voice, "and I said that when I thought we still had a fighting chance. A lot's changed since then, Brit."

"San, do you care that I'm with Mike now?"

Brittany was always too direct.

"I don't want to," she said finally, not quite an answer.

"San" – Brittany was pulling her closer, tugging her onto her lap in the middle of her kitchen, and for a bright, desperate flash she thought that maybe Brit hadn't learned boundaries after all over the past ten years – but then she realized Brit was rubbing gentle patterns into the space between her shoulder blades and her tailbone, stroking her hair, just _comforting her_, and Santana let out the shuddering sob she'd been holding in because she couldn't decide if _this _– Brit's hands running along her back and lips pressing against her forehead and breath drifting across her cheek – was just what she needed right now or too much for her to handle.

"A lot _has_ changed, San – but it's not all bad, is it? Just think…if you were still mad at Rachel for messing up our chances at nationals, then you'd never have become good enough friends for her to take you as her date to the award ceremony she's going to remember for the rest of her life, and that's pretty amazing. I'll never be a bridesmaid at Mike and Tina's wedding, but I was still a bridesmaid at Tina's, and she told me that if Mike and I last, she'd want to be a bridesmaid at mine. And I bet when Blaine sings at Kurt's wedding, he won't be thinking about how they didn't work out – he'll just be hoping that he gets the chance to be half as happy someday. And I know he'll _actually_ be just as happy as Kurt in the end if not more so, and so will I, but so will _you_ most of all, because just like you told me when we broke up, you _never _settle for half-measures no matter what, remember?"

"When did you get so smart?" she whispered, and if she closed her eyes she could almost imagine they were back at the McKinley lockers at the end of junior year, even though Brittany wasn't even her best friend anymore and probably didn't (_couldn't possibly_) still love her more than she loved anyone else in this world.

"I was smarter in high school," said Brittany matter-of-factly, still stroking her hair. "Even though everyone said I was dumb, _I _know I wasn't. Everyone says _you're_ so much smarter than you were then, though. But I think you were just as smart in high school as you are now…you just let everyone see it now."

She buried her face in the curve of Brittany's shoulder and let the tears fall until she didn't seem to have any left, and all she could do, somehow, was smile.

XXXXX

"And he actually left it with his kids in Manila, can you believe it? His best guitar – he'd negotiated a better music budget with the school board during his time there by accepting a _much _lower salary than he should have been getting for his double duties as English teacher and music director, but he said he didn't trust the principal to keep fighting for it – I think he'll do a great job drumming up support for some overseas funding from the New York music community, though, and we'll all pitch in, of course…"

Feigning indifference, Rachel edged pointedly around the glass case at Tiffany's, but it was no use; she could still feel Kurt breathing down her neck, and strongly suspected that if she turned her head, she'd be just centimeters away from his too-eager face, unable to avoid the knowing gleam of his eyes. She wished he'd start jabbering about his wedding plans again.

"...so anyway, Adam and I were just talking yesterday" – she looked up hopefully at those words – "about how selfless it was for him to give the guitar away" – she sighed wearily, dropping her gaze down to a sparkling diamond pendant – "but how it was kind of sad that he didn't even have a guitar anymore, because he's just the sort of guy who needs a healthy dose of guitar tabs for The Script and The Fray to help get him through his _pining_ phase, if you catch my drift. But Blaine's just too budget-conscious at the moment to get another one, so Adam said he had this brilliant idea, and being the ridiculous sweetheart that he is, he went out and bought an even _better _guitar for him, and somehow managed to convince Blaine to accept it this morning as a housewarming gift. I had to leave right after breakfast to come here for our Tiffany's date, but Adam had another half-hour to kill before his interview, so he stayed at Blaine's to help test it out. They were rocking out to 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' when I left. Those two," he added affectionately.

"Mmm," she said noncommittally. "I think the rings are ready, Kurt; the sales attendant is waving you over."

"I think you need to stop evading."

"I think you need to stop setting me up for heartbreak," she snapped suddenly, but her anger dissipated almost at once, face crumpling as soon as she saw the hurt expression on his face. "Oh Kurt, I'm sorry, I didn't – I know you're trying to help, it's just –"

"I know this is hard for you," he said with bright, earnest eyes, taking her outstretched hands and squeezing them gently, "but I've spoken to him a _lot _since we last talked about this, and I can tell he feels really strongly about you, about the two of you. I don't want you to give up the chance of having something really great with him, not when I know how much you both want it."

"I think you're reading too much into his feelings," she said softly, looking down. "You're seeing something that isn't there."

"I think you're avoiding something that's right in front of your eyes," said Kurt with a heavy sigh, "but I suppose we'll agree to disagree on that. I've got to go and pick up the rings. You won't storm out without waiting for me, will you? We can talk about my plans for your wedding attire instead, if you like."

"I'll wait for you," she said. She wouldn't storm out, not when he cared about her so much. "Will you let me wear pink?"

"Well, it's not my first choice, but I haven't ruled it out," he conceded, and she smiled a little. "Just one thing – Rachel, I swear this is the last word I'll say on this today, but I think you should go and see him at his new place," said Kurt, turning towards the counter. "When you're ready."

She tucked her hand into his arm when he returned, and they stepped out into the sunlight, scanning the street in front of them.

"Where is that car?"

"Let's ditch it and walk back to my place – we can get a car for you there," she said, impulsively. New York would always be hercity, her _home_, but she couldn't help but miss the freedom and anonymity of the island.

"Speak for yourself, doll," Kurt chuckled, slipping on his Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses, "your Broadway theatergoers may be tame enough, but I'm not about to risk being mobbed while I'm carrying such precious merchandise. I have the driver's number here, just a minute –"

"Kurt, look!" She pressed his arm, leaning closer to whisper in his ear. "I know that man looking in our direction, over on the northwest corner of the intersection – he's a Broadway World photographer. Let's smile and wave for him, shall we? Wait, _Kurt_, what's wrong?" She didn't understand why he looked visibly distressed at her words; he loved photo-ops as much as she did. They were both _incredibly _photogenic, and she thought he looked particularly handsome today in his dark top under a light, asymmetrical vest.

"Adam is doing a interview as we speak," hissed Kurt, whose eyes were flickering between the approaching photographer and the Tiffany & Co. sign in a clear sign of panic, "they're going to put two-and-two together, catch him off guard, then put up that interview in the next hour and blow our cover before we go public with the engagement!"

"No, they won't," Rachel whispered back reassuringly, pressing his arm again, "you know Adam is _wonderful _at deflecting questions when he wants to, in that suave tone of his you love so much, and besides, it'll look more suspicious if we run back to hide in Tiffany's. You could be buying _me _jewelry, for all they know."

"Well, you certainly won't be getting that gorgeous drop pendant you had your eye on if you mess this up for me, you minx," said Kurt, resignedly putting on his best camera smile. "I'm fairly certain Blaine's snooty second cousin up in Westchester has one just like it, though – it's just too bad you'll never get the chance to steal it away as your 'something borrowed' and conveniently forget to return it to her. – And _that _was my last word on the subject, promise!"

XXXXX

**Finn**: hey rachel

Rachel leaned back against the sofa pillows, smiling a little at the Google Chat window that had popped up in the bottom right corner of her laptop screen. Quickly, she adjusted her settings so the sound of incoming chat notifications wouldn't drown out the soothing tones of Corinne Bailey Rae's self-titled album, and began typing out a reply to her ex-boyfriend.

**Rachel**: Hi Finn! I heard the great news. Can't believe you and Katie are going to be parents. Congrats!

**Rachel**: Are you nervous? :)

**Finn**: yeah, really nervous actually. in a good way tho, i think

**Finn**: quinn sent me a PM on FB asking if i was going to name it drizzle

**Finn**: i think she was joking….right?

Rachel laughed aloud. Maybe she'd call Quinn tomorrow for advice about her own situation. Quinn was level-headed, and understood heartbreak better than anyone.

**Rachel**: She was joking. She just has a dry sense of humor, you know.

**Finn**: tbh i still kind of like the name :)

**Finn**: but katie wouldnt go for it either

**Finn**: so how r u

She considered for a minute, and decided on a semi-honest response.

**Rachel**: I'm doing fine. Things have been a little overwhelming since the awards show and there's a lot on my mind. But it was good to get away for a vacation.

She waited for a full two minutes. Then –

**Finn**: u mean since the awards show because blaine came back to nyc that day?

She sighed. It wasn't as if she hadn't been half-expecting it.

**Rachel**: Kurt told you?

**Finn**: not all of it, sorta pieced it together from weird things kurt, adam and santana all said when i talked to them seperately

**Rachel**: Oh…

**Rachel**: Separately.

**Finn**: evade much? :)

**Rachel**: Kurt says I'm evading too.

**Finn**: u can tell me

**Finn**: do u love blaine?

She couldn't lie to Finn any more than she could lie to Kurt.

**Rachel**: Yes.

**Rachel**: I know it's strange

**Rachel**: and it will never work out

**Rachel**: but I can't help how I feel.

**Finn**: how do u know it wont work out

**Finn**: maybe he cant help how he feels either

**Rachel**: Finn, it's not that simple -

**Rachel**: Sex and dating are VERY different things

**Rachel**: I want to be with him, but I don't want him to date me for the wrong reasons,

**Rachel**: and he is gay, Finn; he might find women like me attractive but he identifies as gay.

**Finn**: yeah, but u always told me sexual identity was a continuum

She let out her breath in a soft laugh. He _would_.

**Rachel**: You can't spell 'separate' but you can spell 'continuum?' :)

**Finn**: wiktionary ;)

**Finn**: did he ask u out

**Rachel**: Yes.

**Finn**: how, and what did he say

**Rachel**: Sang Feels Like Tonight (the Daughtry song)

**Rachel**: Said he'd been oblivious and that he realized it would be unfair to me not to give us a real chance, just because he's defined himself a certain way for 27 years. That if there was a fraction of a chance we could be so much more to each other, it wasn't right not to try it out.

**Finn**: thats nice, but i mean how did he say he felt about you

**Finn**: he did talk abt feelings right

**Rachel**: Yes, but I don't think he meant it seriously.

**Finn**: just tell me rach

**Rachel**: He said he doesn't know how to label it, but what he feels when we're together is powerful and unlike anything he's felt before

She stared at the words she'd just typed; they looked serious. He didn't respond for a minute, and she worried that he was reading into it too much, just as Kurt had. She hastened to qualify her own remarks.

**Rachel**: It's just a line, Finn.

**Rachel**: Of course I'm unlike anyone he's had before; I'm the only GIRL he's ever had a recurring sexual relationship with

**Finn**: thats obviously not what he means rach

**Finn**: guys like him dont say stuff like that if theyre just talking about sex

**Finn**: look, i get why ur being like this

**Finn**: u dont want to get ur hopes up

**Finn**: but kurt knows blaine really really well and if he thinks blaine is in love with u i think u should take him seriously

**Finn**: and look even if u dont believe kurt

**Finn**: i was crazy in love with u for a really long time

**Finn**: and what blaine said to u is exactly what it felt like

She stared at her screen. _Exactly what it felt like._

**Rachel**: Really?

**Finn**: totally

**Finn**: like that sister hazel song about how it took a long time and how words cant say how u feel about someone but u just know deep down that shes the girl for u. u know the one i mean.

**Finn**: dont overthink it rach

**Finn**: if ur crazy about him and hes crazy about u then it seems pretty simple to me

**Finn**: maybe u can sing to him

**Finn**: guys like being serenaded too ;)

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting Corinne Bailey Rae's soft, soulful voice wash over her.

_'Twas more than I could take, pity for pity's sake_

_Some nights kept me awake, I thought that I was stronger_

_When you gonna realize, that you don't even have to try any longer?_

_Do what you want to_

She took a deep breath, fingers drumming lightly against the keys.

**Rachel**: Maybe I will.

**Finn**: awesome, u should

**Finn**: hey rach, sry i gtg

**Finn**: gl with blaine

**Finn**: let me know how it goes ok?

**Finn**: and hey

**Finn**: i was thinking…maybe we can give a speech together at kurts wedding. u know, as former ND co-captains and kurt's brother and best friend. fun right?

**Rachel**: That would be a lot of fun :)

**Rachel**: Thanks, Finn.

**Rachel**: Best ex ever 3

**Finn**: u forgot an s ;)

**Rachel**: Men.

**Finn**: u love us

XXXXX

Rachel hesitated outside the door of Blaine's Lower East side apartment, rocking back and forth on her heels. She could make out the sound of laughing male voices and the soft strum of a guitar – Adam's housewarming gift, most likely – within.

She had been nervous about ringing the buzzer on the ground floor so that he could let her into the building; it was a walk-up apartment with old-fashioned fire escapes on the outside, but it seemed to have a fairly modern security system installed, and she had a sneaking suspicion that there was a camera that would allow him to see her when she buzzed up, even if she couldn't see him yet. But by chance, Wes and his wife were just about to leave the apartment building just as she came up to it, and had let her in at once, obviating the need to give any advance notice of her presence to Blaine. They had lingered on the landing for a little while, making small talk (mostly about her Tony Award success, as it turned out); Clara, whom Wes had met in financial industry circles, came from an old-money sort of family that valued theater highly and donated generously to the arts. She could appreciate Clara, if not quite relate to her; Rachel had always thought of theater and the arts as nothing more or less than her very lifeblood, rather than something to be enjoyed passively. She knew Blaine was close to Wes, but their bond was made out of their Dalton glee club days and not out of their common social ties.

"He's got a couple of the old Westerville boys over," Wes had said calmly. "David and another fellow who joined the Warblers after I graduated – both happened to be in town." He had laid a hand on her arm, expression an intriguing blend of pleasantry and curiosity. "Don't let that stop you, Rachel; I know he'd want to see you."

Heart racing, she knocked twice on the door. The guitar music stopped. "Be right there," she heard Blaine call. She could feel her heart rising up into her throat as the sound of his steps became clearer and clearer, and she dug her ballet flats into the ground to prevent herself from running away. She wouldn't do that again, not now.

The door swung open, and he was standing right in front of her in a close-fitting black polo t-shirt, guitar slung over one shoulder and six-pack of beer in the other hand.

"Rachel," he breathed, eyes more expressive than she'd ever seen them, "Rachel, hi."

"Hi," she whispered, taking a step toward him. "I – I know you said you didn't want housewarming gifts, but I wanted to bring you these," she held the bag she'd brought open for him to see, "banana nut bread, because you always used to sneak a slice or two of my leftover batch from my fridge when you thought I wasn't looking, and some sea shells I collected from the shore one of the first mornings we were in Kauai when you were still in bed – I thought they'd brighten up the apartment –"

"Rach –" He had set down the beer and was fumbling with his guitar strap in the doorway, eyes overbright.

"No, not yet" – she placed a gentle hand on his chest, holding the guitar strap in place, blinking back her tears as she looked back at him – "I know you have friends over now – Wes said a couple of former Warblers, and truth be told I always secretly wanted to crash a Warbler jam session –"

He let out his breath in a soft laugh, disengaging her hand from his chest so he could hold it in his.

"– but I want to talk privately afterwards, Blaine, as long as you'll let me stay – is that okay?" she continued softly, squeezing his hand.

"More than okay," he assured her, lifting the back of her hand to his lips and giving her knuckles two little kisses, and she thought her heart might burst from all her feelings. "Come on –" He let go so he could pick up the beer again, and she followed him through the doorway. Once he'd set the beverages and her gift bag down on the little white dining table in the corner, he reached for her hand again, pulling her into the open living room where two men were sitting next to each other on a modern-looking, bright red sofa.

"So, we have a _very_ special guest who's expressed interest in joining our jam session – gentlemen, the incomparable Rachel Berry."

Both men stood up with recognition dawning on their faces, moving over to shake her hand.

"Rachel, you know David, right? And this is Sebastian Smythe – you might remember him too, he joined the Warblers during your senior year at McKinley –"

"Oh, of course," she said, the name jogging her memory at once; she'd heard Kurt take it in vain often enough.

"Rachel, a hearty congratulations on your Tony Award win," said David, "you do all of us show choir alumni proud."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Sebastian cut in, with a keen glance and a smooth smile. "It's remarkable to think that I had the chance to see your performance when you took the small stage in McKinley in your celebrated role more than ten years ago – thanks to this one." He nodded at Blaine, grinning in a roguishly handsome way, and she wondered how badly her best friend would scold her if she didn't manage to slip into conversation the minor detail that Kurt was now engaged to be married to a Tony-Award-winning Broadway star before the age of thirty. "Miss Berry, do you have any Sara Bareilles in your repertoire? Blaine doesn't have a keyboard, so it won't be perfect, but now that we've got an accomplished female voice in our midst, I'm feeling a little jazzy, soulful pop rock myself."

"I've got the perfect song in mind," she said, thinking fast.

"We'll let you sit this one out, Blaine," said Sebastian, slipping the guitar off Blaine's torso and actually slapping him on the rear end as he pushed him toward the sofa – but there was something knowing in the way he winked at her when she gave him an incredulous look.

Sebastian proved to be an excellent guitarist, his strumming substituting well for the piano chords in _Many the Miles_. She perched on the faux fireplace next to him, watching Blaine lean back on the red sofa cushions, smiling at her.

_Made up my mind when I was a young girl_

_I've been given this one world_

_I won't worry it away_

She closed her eyes, letting the jazzy melody take over her.

_But now and again I lose sight of the good life_

_I get stuck in a low light_

_But then love comes in_

David and Sebastian's voices came in, harmonizing softly on the chorus.

_How far do I have to go to get to you_

_Many the miles_

_Many the miles_

_How far do I have to go to get to you_

_Many the miles_

_But send me the miles and I'll be happy to_

_Follow you, love_

She hit every amazing note, perfectly. By the song's conclusion, the look of unadulterated joy on his face as Sebastian and David whooped in the background was enough to have her smiling so hard it hurt.

"I'm not following that," laughed David, "care to do the honors, Mr. Anderson?"

"Actually, yeah, I would," he said softly. "Give it here, Smythe. And guys, back me up."

She felt tears of happiness start up in her eyes when she recognized the opening guitar riff of the familiar Sister Hazel tune.

_Finally I figured out_

_But it took a long long time_

He met her eyes, held her gaze.

_There's been times, I'm so confused_

_All my roads_

_Well, they lead to you_

She was smiling again, doubtful she'd ever be able to stop.

_It's hard to say what it is I see in you_

_Wonder if I'll always be with you_

_But words can't say, I can't do_

_Enough to prove it's all for you_

"David, I hope you've still got some Oasis up your sleeve?" Sebastian said loudly once the song was over, and to their credit, both Dalton alumni pretended not to notice when Blaine rejoined her on the sofa and she pulled him in for a soft, slow kiss.

XXXXX

"I love interviews," Rachel said happily.

"You love all interviews," he teased, lips brushing gently against her ear. They were curled up together on his apartment's fire escape, heads bent over the web browser on his phone. He was half-sitting, half-lying on the ground with his back against the wall, left leg stretched out in front of him; she was sitting between his legs, leaning back against his chest with her right arm tucked around his bent knee.

"Look at this question. 'Adam, I'm getting an email from a co-worker as we're speaking, saying Kurt Hummel, who we all know you're seriously dating, was just spotted walking out of Tiffany's with Rachel. Is there something you're not telling us?' Adam's response: 'Well, he never did get her that jewelry he's been meaning to buy her since she won her Tony, so I'm sure that's what it is. They've had pretty regular dates at Tiffany's since they were eighteen or so, although it was just breakfast and window-shopping when they were poor college students.' He's so flawless, you'd never have guessed. And look, they just posted a follow-up note saying he'd fooled them, and linking to Kurt's big tweet later this afternoon." Kurt had made the public announcement by tweeting a picture of his and Adam's hands, intertwined with matching rings, with the simple caption: 'AAarons I'm the happiest man in the world.' She smiled, remembering what Adam had written in response: 'KurtHummel not if I'm still alive. Can't wait to be your husband xx.'

" 'When we talked to Rachel backstage at _West Side _a few months ago,' " Blaine read on, " 'she told us how she'd set you two up, which was delightful. Would you ever consider doing the same for her? Word on the street is that she's currently single, but she wasn't saying a word last time we talked.' Hmm, since when are you so secretive with your beloved friends at ?"

" 'So I've got this imaginary guy in my head who'd be just perfect for her. Dark hair, not too tall, generous, honest. Not an actor or singer by profession, but the sort of guy who'd serenade her in public and get away with it, because his voice is that good. Crazy about her before he even realizes it.' Sounds like a good guy," she said lightly, cuddling closer as he ducked his head, flushing a little. "Too bad Adam made him up in his head."

"You know," she added hesitantly in a more serious tone, "I know I'm not _Barbra _yet, but I'm famous enough for people to talk, and they _will_, once they find out about us. And in this day and age it won't be difficult for them to dig up old photos and recollections from high school or college in a flash, and it'll be all over the Internet that you dated Kurt in a prior life. You'll be labeled bisexual or a closeted gay man before you open your mouth."

"I know," he said softly against her hair, "and I'm not going to lie. It's a little scary for me. Putting myself out there for speculation when I'm just a guy who can't help what he feels for a girl."

"I'm just afraid – I've _been _afraid that your feelings might not be strong enough to handle it all," she said in a rush. "To ignore what people say, what people think. But I want you _so _much that I'm willing to take the risk."

"As am I," he said firmly. "Remember I told you once that I hoped someday I would be with someone and feel, mutually, that we were never really complete without each other? And that I wanted that for you, too?"

"It's all I could think about, after that night in Kauai," she confessed. He stowed his phone in his back pocket and slipped both arms around her, holding her close.

"Well, I still want that. And I think we're both well on our way there. Wouldn't mess that up for the world."

She looked up into his face, feeling a smile cross her face, and reached out to trace a line from his cheek to his mouth.

"Tease," he whispered, eyes still closed, when she pulled back and disengaged herself from his arms after a soft, quick brush of her lips against his.

"I'm not finished," she said softly, flipping over onto her stomach and stretching her legs out in between his, hovering over him. His hands found hers automatically, clasping them, supporting her as she rested on her elbows.

She loved making out like this, loved how he responded when she leant down into him, taking control of their kisses. Now that she wasn't in self-defense mode – wasn't afraid to read into every gesture, every reaction to her mouth and her body pressing against his – she was hyper-sensitive to the way he responded to her; the way he smiled unconsciously when their noses bumped together, the way he moaned a little from his throat and arched up against her when she sucked on his upper lip.

His phone sounded from his back pocket, ring tone slightly muffled in his jeans; he ignored it.

"Phone," she whispered.

"No," he mumbled against her lips. She felt her heart flutter, but reached around him on autopilot and slipped her hand into his back pocket, pulling out the phone.

"No," he repeated lazily, trying to kiss down her neck when she drew away pointedly, holding out the phone, "c'mon, put it back. You can keep your hand there after you do."

"It's Kurt," she said softly, ducking out of his reach because, well, if she let him keep doing that, she very much doubted she'd have the will to stop. "You should pick it up; he's been worried about you. He spent almost as much time when we were at Tiffany's talking about _you _as he did talking about his wedding plans, and this is someone who spent hours as a child marrying his Power Rangers in every combination imaginable."

"Okay," he sighed, and she handed over the phone, darting in quickly to kiss his cheek. "Hi, Kurt."

She couldn't hear what Kurt was saying, but he seemed to be talking in a rapid, anxious voice. Blaine, on the other hand, was grinning more widely by the minute.

"Kurt, I love you, but I really don't think serenading her on her doorstep with 'The Man Who Can't Be Moved' is going to help my case," he was saying. She buried her face in his shoulder to muffle her laughter, smiling into the fabric when she felt him start to thread his fingers through her hair. Santana claimed to hate that song, always said it was about a pathetic stalker, but she couldn't help feeling it was romantic all the same. Blaine's voice would have sounded lovely singing it. Perhaps she'd convince him to get the guitar back out once they went inside.

"Yeah, I know, grand gestures – sounded like she'd given up?" he continued, sounding amused. "Huh. Wonder why she's making out with me on my fire escape right now, then."

There was silence on the line; then she heard Kurt say something, slowly and succinctly by the sound of it, and Blaine was pressing his phone into her palm.

"He said to give it to you."

She shook her head, smiling, and raised the phone to her ear. "Hi."

"I should have known you were going over there," said Kurt smugly, without preamble, "it explains your attire today. That dress is a little see-through, you know. Even the gay sales attendant at Tiffany's was staring."

"It is not!" she protested, but looked down at herself to check. "Blaine, he's saying my dress is see-through. It isn't, is it? – Kurt, now look what you've done, he's staring at my breasts now. _Anyway_, I came over here with the _sole _purpose of bringing housewarming gifts and –"

"I'm sure you did," said Kurt, sounding thoroughly entertained at her expense, and she seized on a means of distracting him.

"Kurt, Sebastian was here! He slapped Blaine's butt, you know."

"I hope you made out with Blaine in front of that sleaze," he said at once. "Put him in his place."

"I _did_," she laughed, "but he didn't seem the slightest bit fazed."

"He's not one to be fazed by monogamous relationships. Or maybe one of his Craigslist encounters worked out for him," said Kurt unsympathetically, sounding as if he hoped it hadn't.

"Well, he kind of knew what was going on," Blaine admitted, "we had a couple of beers before you showed up."

"Kurt, Blaine is saying Sebastian knew about us."

"That meerkat's always in everyone's business, isn't he. Wonder if I should invite him to the wedding out of spite," mused Kurt. "Anyway, I'll let you two get back to it. Watch out for the paparazzi, though – fire escapes aren't the most private places, so you might end up with an accidental sex tape on YouTube if things heat up. Unless that's what you were going for in the first place. You _would _try to upstage me for public exposure the day I announce my engagement, you little fiend."

"Not for the world," she promised. "I love you so much, Kurt."

"Love you too, doll."

She slipped the phone back in Blaine's back pocket and slid the fingers of her left hand into one of his belt loops, reaching up with her right hand to play with the open collar of his polo t-shirt. He leaned forward, brushing their noses together again.

"More than me, right?" he said affectionately, and when she looked into his eyes, she knew he was talking about her parting words to Kurt.

"I'm afraid so," she said with an apologetic smile, "Kurt's been the number three man in my life – after my dads – for a little too long to be supplanted so quickly. But you have all the time in the world to work your way up to the top three."

The last sentence was half a question, and for a few brief moments she thought he might have missed it, or chosen to miss it. But then he was rolling them over in the little space on the fire escape, tucking her body under his so quickly and adeptly that she squeaked a little, and maybe _this _was what she loved best – looking up into his smiling face, sneaking one hand up his shirt and twisting her fingers into his hair with the other one, pulling him down for a kiss.

"Yeah," he whispered, breath stealing warmly over her cheek like a promise. "We've got all the time in the world."

XXXXX

**Finally :-) Would love to hear your reviews/feedback on this (particularly long!) installment!**

_**Last**_** chapter (essentially an epilogue)**: Kurt's wedding reunites a number of the New Directions for shared songs, speeches, and a healthy dose of reflection and love.

**By the way, as far as additional fics go**, I think I'm somewhat more inclined to tackle one-shots or companion pieces to this universe (for instance, I'd love to do a few-chapter exploration of the events surrounding Kurt and Adam's first date and early relationship, aided and abetted by Rachel's determined match-making efforts, as referenced in Chapters 3, 5, and 7 of this fic – or perhaps some fill-in Rachel/Blaine scenes at any point in the referenced timeline of their relationship?) rather than a full-blown sequel. However, prompts/suggestions of any kind are more than welcomed! Let me know in the comments :-)


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